.  •>  \:v;'-u?\or;e 


MARY  A. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


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75 


tJCTA  UBRABY 


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From  the  large  Sketch  for  the  Portrait  by  G.  F.  Watts.  R.A. 


A    FEW    MEMORIES 


BY 

MARY    ANDERSON 

(UUB.  DE  NAVARRO) 


WITH    PORTRAITS 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER   &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 
1896 


Copyright,  1895,  1896,  by  Mary  Anderson  db  Navarro. 

All  rights  rcservtd. 


Ptf 

/\5A3 


A  FEW  MEMORIES 


PORTRAITS  OF  THE  AUTHOR 


From  the  large  Sketch  for  the  Portrait  by  G.  F.  Watts,  R.A.  Frontispiece 

At  Sixteen.     From  Photograph Facutgpast  42 

From  Profile  Sketch  by  Frank  D.  Millet "        118 

As  Pauline  in  the  "  Lady  of  Lyons."     From  the  Portrait  by 
G.  H.  Boughton,  A.R.A.,  in  the  possession  of  William 

Black "        186 

In  Albanian  Costume.     From  Photograph,  1888      ....  "        226 
From  the  Photograph  by  Adolph  Meyer,  taken  November, 

1S95 "        256 


Decorative  Flower  Piece,  by  Alfred  Parsons past  ix 


TO 


MY    HUSBAND 


A    FEW    MEMORIES 


CHAPTER   I 


WILL  not  plead  the  apology  for 
publishing  these  few  recollections, 
that  friends — /  might  add,  stran- 
gers— have  urged  me  to  do  so. 
That  excuse  is  worn  threadbare, 
audit  would  not  be  true  to  say  that 
it  is  that  which  has  induced  me, 
after  five  happy  years  of  married 
life  and  retirement,  to  write  this  short  memoir.  I  have,  as 
I  am  well  aivare,  no  literary  skill,  and  assuredly  do  not  wish 
for  further  publicity.  lam  content  to  be  forgotten,  except  by 
such  friends  as  I  hope  will  always  keep  a  place  for  me  in  their 
hearts.  But  it  seems  to  me  reasonable  to  believe  that  my  ex- 
perience may  be  of  some  service  to  those  who  have,  or  think 
they  have,  an  aptitude  for  acting.  I  have  written  these  pages 
more  for  young  girls  (who  may  have  the  same  ambitions  that 
I  had)  than  for  any  one  else  :  to  shozv  them  that  the  glitter 
of  the  stage  is  not  all  gold,  and  thus  to  do  a  little  towards  mak- 
ing them  realize  how  serious  an  undertaking  it  is  to  adopt  a 
life  so  full  of  hardships,  humiliations,  and  even  dangers. 
I  have  omitted  from  this  volume  numerous  interesting 


2  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

examples  and  incidents,  as  the  mention  of  them  would 
necessarily  embrace  the  names  of  men  and  women  who 
(/  am  happy  to  say)  still  grace  the  world. 

#  #  #  #  # 

The  second  child  of  a  large  family,  my  mother 
was  brought  up  according  to  the  most  rigorous  of 
German  principles.  Her  thoughts  were  hardly 
her  own;  her  literature  was  set  before  her,  and 
consisted  of  the  "  Lives  of  the  Saints  "  and  other 
pious  books,  while  plays,  dances,  and  the  amuse- 
ments generally  permitted  to  the  young  were 
strictly  forbidden,  and  practically  unknown  to  her. 
My  excellent  grandparents,  though  Catholics,  had 
been  educated  to  believe  that  the  natural  tenden- 
cies of  the  theatre  were  "  downward  and  per- 
nicious," and  their  children  in  turn  were  not 
allowed  even  to  think  of  entering  such  a  place. 
However,  by  the  aid  of  her  eldest  and  favorite 
brother,  his  pardonable  dissimulation,  and  a 
friendly  latch-key,  my  mother  was,  at  the  age  of 
seventeen,  smuggled  into  one  of  those  "  dens  of 
iniquity"  for  the  first  time.  She  was  carried 
away  by  the  talent  and  great  beauty  of  Mrs. 
D.  P.  Bowers,  and  by  the  charm  surrounding 
that  interesting:  though  sensational  and  old-fash- 
ioned  play,  "  The  Sea  of   Ice."     It  was  probably 


MY   PARENTS'  LOVE  MATCH  3 

this  breath  of  romance  that  caused  her  to  grow 
more  and  more  restive  under  the  strict  discipline 
of  her  home  life.  At  any  rate,  it  was  soon  after 
her  first  visit  to  the  theatre  that  she  found  a  way 
of  meeting  and  losing  her  heart  to  Charles  H. 
Anderson,  a  young  man  of  English  birth,  who 
had  just  finished  his  education  at  Oxford.  Clever, 
scholarly,  charming  in  presence  and  manner,  de- 
voted to  sport,  a  passionate  lover  of  the  drama  and 
all  things  artistic,  he  was  the  very  man  to  win  the 
admiration  of  a  girl  whose  life  had  been  as  narrow 
and  fettered  as  hers.  With  all  his  graces  and  ac- 
complishments, he  was,  unfortunately,  not  religious, 
and  his  proposal  for  my  mother's  hand  was  met  by 
a  stern  refusal  from  her  parents.  They  did  not 
believe  in  marriages  between  persons  of  different 
religions,  and  especially  were  they  opposed  to  the 
marriage  of  their  daughter  with  a  man  devoid  of 
faith.  To  them  the  soul  union  was  the  only  one 
that  could  insure  a  lasting  love  and  durable  happi- 
ness. My  mother  was  therefore  forbidden  to  see 
him  again,  though  from  a  worldly  point  of  view 
her  lover  had  everything  in  his  favor.  For  some 
months  a  secret  correspondence  was  carried  on 
between  them.  Wearying,  however,  of  continued 
separation,  and  aided  again  by  the  favorite  brother, 


4  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

they  eloped,  and  were  clandestinely  married.  The 
young  couple,  after  a  year's  sojourn  in  New  York 
and  Philadelphia,  wended  their  way  westward. 
This  was  in  1859,  only  a  few  weeks  before  my 
birth.  While  in  mid-ocean,  bound  for  California, 
their  ship  caught  fire.  Providentially,  there  was 
no  wind,  or  the  vessel,  and  probably  every  soul  on 
board,  would  have  perished.  My  mother  displayed 
remarkable  courage  on  that  occasion.  While 
every  one  rushed  about  the  deck,  panic-stricken, 
she  stood  leaning  against  a  mast,  calmly  awaiting 
the  inevitable.  Fortunately  the  fire  was  mastered, 
and  but  little  damage  done.     The  ship  continued 

her  trip  safely,  landing  her  passengers  at a 

few  days  later.  My  parents  went  at  once  to  Sacra- 
mento, where,  on  the  28th  of  July,  I  first  saw  the 
light ;  my  birthplace  a  quaint  hotel,  surmounted 
by  a  huge  golden  eagle,  from  which  it  took  its 
name.  My  mother,  scarcely  nineteen,  and  still 
child  enough  to  be  pleased  with  only  pretty  people 
and  things,  was  greatly  distressed  on  first  seeing 
my  ugly,  red  little  face  ;  and  the  nurse's  consoling 
and  conventional  remark,  "  Never  you  mind, 
ma'am ;  you  may  be  proud  of  her  some  day,"  was 
met  with  a  hopeless  "  Never  !"  However,  before 
a  month  had  passed,  she,  in  the  way  of  mothers, 


BURGLARS  THREATEN  TO  TAKE  MY  LIFE     5 

thousrht  there  never  had  been  such  a  "  dear  little 

O 

girl."  I  have  been  told  that,  from  my  earliest  days, 
I  have  always  been  naturally  gay,  preferring  even, 
when  quite  tiny,  to  laugh  rather  than  cry.  This 
disposition  has,  through  life,  been  a  very  great 
blessing,  for  it  has  continually  enabled  me  to  find 
enjoyment  in  the  smallest  things.  I  was  still  a 
baby  when,  during  the  absence  of  her  husband  in 
England,  my  mother  was  suddenly  awakened  one 
night  by  a  bright  light  thrown  on  her  face  and  a 
gruff  voice  saying :  "  Come,  come,  ma'am,  you've 
got  gold  in  this  yere  house,  and  unless  you 
fork  it  out  I'll  do  away  with  yur  young  un." 
Hereupon  he  turned  his  lantern  on  a  second  ruf- 
fian, of  whose  presence  my  mother  was  unaware 
until  she  saw  him  holding  me  in  one  hand,  while 
with  the  other  he  brandished  a  dangerous-looking 
knife.  "See  'ere,"  said  this  one  in  a  whisper,  "I'm 
desperate,  I  am  ;  fork  it  out,  or  I'll  run  your  lamb- 
kin through !"  All  unconscious  of  the  death  that 
was  threatening  me,  I  kept  crowing  merrily,  and 
.trying  to  catch  at  the  rough  fellow's  shaggy  beard. 
My  mother  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  think- 
ing that  their  hearts  would  surely  be  softened  by 
the  blandishments  of  her  little  one ;  but  seeing 
that  these  had  no  effect,  and  that  the  knife  was 


6  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

painfully  close  to  me,  she  promised  hurriedly  to 
give  the  men  all  she  had,  only  begging  that  they 
would  return  the  child  to  her  at  once.  The  result 
was  that  they  took  away  all  the  money  in  the 
house — a  considerable  sum — several  gold  and  sil- 
ver ornaments,  and  the  only  portrait  of  my  father 
in  existence,  a  miniature  which  they  coveted  for 
the  diamonds  surrounding  it.  Had  my  mother 
lost  her  presence  of  mind,  or,  womanlike,  indulged 
in  the  usual  scream,  there  would  doubtless  have 
been,  then  and  there,  an  end  to  all  my  earthly 
joys  and  sorrows;  but  she  was,  and  always  has 
been,  remarkably  cool  and  collected  in  times  of 
real  danger — more  so  than  many  men.  The  rob- 
bers evidently  admired  her  pluck,  for  they  gave 
her  a  polite  "  Good  -  night,  ma'am,"  as,  heavily 
laden,  they  made  their  exit  from  the  window. 

We  left  Sacramento  when  I  was  still  a  child 
in  arms,  my  mother  wishing  to  be  near  her  uncle, 
who  was  pastor  of  a  small  German  congregation 
near  Louisville,  Kentucky.  Her  parents  had  not 
forgiven  her  for  marrying  against  their  wishes, 
and  she  felt  the  need  of  a  friend  during  the 
frequent  absences  of  my  father  in  England.  We 
took  up  our  abode  in  Louisville  in  i860.  As 
this  uncle  became  our  guardian  after  my  father's 


"PATER  ANTON"  7 

early  death,  and  was  like  a  second  father  to  us, 
it  will  not  be  amiss  to  give  a  short  sketch  of  him 
here.  He  was  of  German  birth.  After  finish- 
ing his  education  at  Heidelberg,  his  uncle  and 
guardian  sent  him  to  Rome  to  study  for  the 
priesthood.  He  chose  the  order  of  the  Black 
Franciscans,  and  after  a  ten  years'  residence  in 
Rome  settled  in  the  United  States.  He  was  first 
sent  to  a  wild  part  of  Texas,  where  he  had  many 
exciting  encounters  with  "  noble  Redmen  of  the 
forest,"  and  where  he  found  exceptional  oppor- 
tunities for  indulging  his  taste  for  hunting  and 
shooting.  He  was  called  away  from  this  interest- 
ing State  after  a  few  years,  by  order  of  the  Pro- 
vincial, to  become  the  Herr  Pastor  of  a  small 
German  settlement  in  New  California,  situated 
just  outside  of  Louisville.  Here  "  Pater  Anton," 
as  he  was  called,  very  soon  became  a  great  favor- 
ite. On  his  feast-day  it  was  delightful  to  see  his 
congregation,  in  their  "  Sunday  clothes,"  bringing 
their  children  for  his  blessing,  the  little  creatures 
in  bright-colored  German  frocks,  laden  with  flow- 
ers, fruits,  eggs,  home-knitted  socks,  cotton  hand- 
kerchiefs of  the  brightest  red  and  yellow,  cooing 
pigeons,  cackling  ducks,  chickens,  while  an  inva- 
riable pig  or  two  (from  the  richer  parishioners) 


8  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

joined  in  the  general  chorus  of  holiday-makers. 
Pater  Anton  was  the  gayest  of  them  all,  for  though 
a  man  of  great  learning,  an  accomplished  linguist, 
a  fine  musician,  and  an  eloquent  preacher,  he  was 
the  simplest  of  his  simple  flock.  His  appearance 
was  so  striking  that  passers-by  turned  to  look  at 
him  in  the  street.  He  was  tall,  with  an  habitual 
stoop.  His  features  were  finely  chiselled,  and  his 
straight  black  hair,  worn  long,  was  cut  like  Liszt's. 
He  had  the  most  beautiful  mouth  and  teeth  I 
have  ever  seen,  the  sweetest  smile,  and  the  heart- 
iest laugh  in  the  world.  My  mother  could  not 
have  chosen  a  better  friend  for  herself  or  for  her 
children.  His  tender  love  for  the  young  was 
proverbial.  He  was  often  known  to  leave  the 
most  important  visitor  to  attend  to  the  wants  of 
some  little  one  who  happened  to  come  into  his 
presence. 

"  Dans  nos  souvenirs  la  mort  touche  la  nais- 
sance."  My  father  died  when  I  was  but  three 
years  of  age,  and  within  a  few  months  of  the  birth 
of  my  brother.  He  died  at  Mobile  at  the  age  of 
twenty-four,  in  the  full  flush  of  his  youth,  "  extin- 
guished, not  decayed."  I  remember  nothing  of 
his  voice,  look,  or  manner ;  nor  have  we  any  por- 
trait of  him  now  remaining. 


EARLY  YEARS   IN   LOUISVILLE  9 

Pater  Anton  ("  Nonie,"  as  I  called  him,  "  un- 
cle" being  an  impossible  word  for  me  then)  often 
came  to  cheer  our  little  family.  I  can  see  him 
still,  on  his  fat,  old,  lazy  horse,  trotting  up  the 
street,  his  long  hair  waving  in  the  wind,  his  face 
shining  with  pleasure,  his  rusty  coat  shining  also 
(with  age,  for  he  thought  it  worldly  to  have  more 
than  one  new  coat  in  eight  years),  while  from  his 
large  pockets  dolls,  trumpets,  jumping-jacks,  and 
other  ravishing  toys  stuck  out  in  every  direction. 
What  a  picture  he  was  of  kindness  and  child-like 
gayety,  and  how  we  hailed  him  with  cries  of  joy 
and  clapping  of  hands ! 

In  looking  back  over  the  long  procession  of 
remembered  events  of  those  early  years,  I  can  still 
see  myself  playing  one  morning  in  the  nursery 
with  my  mother  and  brother,  when  Lou,  a  devoted 
German  maid,  suddenly  appeared  before  us  with 
blanched  face,  saying  to  my  mother,  in  frightened 
tones,  that  there  were  a  number  of  "bluecoats" 
(Northern  soldiers,  as  distinguished  from  the 
Southern  "  graycoats  ")  below,  who  insisted  upon 
seeing  her.  I  went  with  her  to  the  parlor,  cling- 
ing to  her  dress.  Never  having  seen  any  but  little 
tin  soldiers  before,  I  was  terrified  by  these  great 
men  with  bayonets  and  clanking  swords.     One  of 


io  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

them  said,  "  The  North  has  conquered,  the  South 
has  been  badly  beaten"  (my  mother  gave  a  cry,  for 
all  her  sympathies  were  with  the  South);  "you  will 
have  to  illuminate  your  house  to-night  in  honor 
of  our  triumph,  and  as  a  sign  of  rejoicing  that  the 
war  is  at  an  end."  Gaining  her  composure  quick- 
ly, my  mother  answered,  "  But  you  cannot  ask  me 
to  rejoice  in  what  I  so  deeply  regret!  What  if  I 
refuse?"  (A  murmur  of  applause  from  Lou, 
peeping  through  the  door.)  "  If  you  refuse,  mad- 
am, we  shall  be  obliged  to  throw  you  into  prison 
as  a  rebel.  Not  only  must  every  house  be  illu- 
minated in  this  town  to-night,  but  in  every  other 
Southern  city  as  well.  These  are  my  orders. 
Good  -  day  to  you !"  "  Schwartze  Teufel !"  from 
Lou,  and  a  shake  of  her  fist  at  their  retreating 
forms.  Though  tears  were  shed,  candles  were 
lighted  in  every  window.  My  delight  in  thinking 
it  was  Christmas  on  seeing  so  many  burning  ta- 
pers was  marred  only  by  my  mother's  sad  white 
face  and  Lou's  angry  red  one,  which  told  me 
something  must  be  very  wrong.  The  streets 
were  alive  with  "  bluecoats "  and  ablaze  with 
lights.  Drums  were  beating,  cannon  firing  over 
the  triumph  of  the  North,  and  all  this  in  a  city 
whose  bravest  sons  had  fought  and  died  in  the 


FEAST-DAYS   IN   NEW  CALIFORNIA  n 

Southern  cause.  There  was  a  choky,  terrible  feel- 
ing in  the  air,  which  caused  me  to  sleep  with  my 
head  under  the  coverlet  for  several  nights. 

Soon  after  this  my  brother  and  I  were  allowed 
to  go  to  New  California  to  visit  Nonie.  The 
bright  little  town,  with  its  houses  painted  blue,  red, 
pink,  and  white,  with  meadows  and  pastures  inter- 
secting them,  looked  more  like  a  toy  town  than  a 
11  real  live  one."  Now,  alas  !  all  the  quaint  pretti- 
ness  has  vanished  :  large  factories,  ugly  breweries, 
and  brick -yards  disfigure  it.  The  church,  the 
priest's  house,  and  the  school  of  the  old  time  alone 
remain.  We  always  spent  the  great  feast-days 
there.  Especially  do  I  remember  Corpus  Christi. 
On  that  day  the  pasture  near  the  church  seemed, 
to  my  childish  eyes,  like  an  enchanted  scene. 
Many  altars  were  erected  there,  covered  with  lace, 
flowers,  and  lighted  candles.  The  village  band 
played  festal  music,  and  was  answered  by  the  dis- 
tant notes  of  the  organ  and  choir  from  the  little 
church.  Three  times  the  beautiful  procession  filed 
around  the  pasture.  Preceded  by  small  girls  in 
white,  scattering  rose-leaves,  and  acolytes  swinging 
their  silver  censers,  came  Pater  Anton  carrying 
the  monstrance.  Kneeling  in  the  grass,  we  sent 
up  fervent  prayers,  the  warm  summer  sun  shining 


12  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

like  a  benediction  over  all.  What  golden  days 
those  were,  filled  only  with  holiness,  simplicity, 
and  peace!  Another  well -remembered  day  was 
when  I  was  first  allowed  to  polish  the  church  sil- 
ver, and  then  to  deck  Our  Lady's  altar.  After 
that  Nonie  began  to  teach  me  the  organ.  He 
wished  to  train  my  brother  and  me  for  the  lives 
he  and  my  mother  had  mapped  out  for  us.  My 
brother  was  to  study  medicine  and  help  him  gen- 
erally (Nonie  was  an  excellent  physician,  and  could 
soothe  the  bodily  as  well  as  the  spiritual  ills  of  his 
flock),  while  I  was  destined  to  care  for  his  small 
household,  tend  the  parish  poor,  train  the  choir, 
and  play  the  organ  on  Sundays  and  holidays. 
But  man  proposes  and  God  disposes.  About  that 
time,  after  remaining  a  widow  for  five  years,  my 
mother  was  married  to  Dr.  Hamilton  Griffin,  of 
Louisville.  A  surgeon  and  major  in  the  Southern 
army,  he  had  gone  through  the  entire  war,  having 
been  wounded  severely  on  two  occasions.  He  was 
full  of  reminiscences  of  Sherman  and  Grant — to 
whom,  in  after-years,  he  introduced  me — and  knew 
personally  Stonewall  Jackson  and  Robert  E.  Lee. 
He  admired  both  enthusiastically.  General  Lee, 
he  often  said,  was  the  most  courteous  gentleman, 
as  well  as  the  most  brilliant  soldier,  he  had  ever  met. 


CONVENT  LIFE  13 

I  was  then  eight  years  old,  and  it  was  thought  nec- 
essary to  begin  my  general  education.  They  took 
me  to  the  Convent  of  the  Ursulines,  near  Louis- 
ville, and  left  me  there.  Who  that  has  ever  suf- 
fered it  can  forget  the  first  great  homesickness? 
I  remember  distinctly  my  utter  misery  when  the 
grated  door  closed  upon  the  mother  and  brother 
from  whom  I  had  never  before  been  separated. 
The  convent  was  a  large,  Italian-looking  building, 
surrounded  by  gardens,  and  shut  in  by  high,  prison- 
like walls.  That  first  night  in  the  long  dormi- 
tory, with  its  rows  of  white  beds  and  their  little 
occupants,  some  as  sad  as  myself,  my  grief  seemed 
more  than  I  could  bear.  The  moon  made  a  track 
of  light  across  the  floor.  A  strain  of  soft  music 
came  in  at  the  open  window ;  it  was  only  an  ac- 
cordion, played  by  some  one  sitting  outside  the 
convent  wall ;  but  how  sweet  and  soothing  it  was  ! 
The  simple  little  melody  seemed  to  say :  "  See 
what  a  friend  I  can  be  !  I  am  Music,  sent  from 
heaven  to  cheer  and  console.  Love  me,  and  I 
will  soothe  and  calm  your  heart  when  it  is  sad,  and 
double  all  your  joys."  It  kept  saying  such  sweet 
tilings  to  me  that  soon  I  fell  asleep,  and  dreamed 
I  was  at  home  again.  From  that  night  I  felt  mu- 
sic a  panacea  for  all  my  childhood's  sorrows.   Even 


14  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

the  street-organs  gave  me  pleasure.  I  mean  the 
soft,  old-fashioned  organs,  not  the  modern  "  barrel," 
that  sounds  as  though  a  show-pupil  of  a  boarding- 
school  were  torturing  the  keys  of  a  poor  piano. 

Owing  to  an  indolent  nature,  and  an  impatient 
dislike  for  the  beginnings  of  things,  I  learned  little 
besides  music  and  a  smattering  of  German,  which 
was  promptly  forgotten.  Thinking  only  of  amuse- 
ment, I  had,  with  wicked  forethought,  begged  my 
indulgent  mother  to  provide  my  school  uniform 
with  spacious  pockets.  These  were  secretly  rilled 
with  wee  china  dolls,  bits  of  stuff,  and  sewing  im- 
plements, with  which  I  made  entire  trousseaux  for 
the  charming  dollies  during  the  study  hours,  and, 
when  the  unsuspicious  nun  was  not  looking,  kept 
the  girls  in  a  constant  titter  by  dancing  them 
upon  my  desk  as  each  new  dress  was  donned.  Our 
convent  uniform  consisted  of  a  plain  blue  cash- 
mere skirt  and  bodice,  and  a  large  straw  scoop- 
bonnet,  with  a  curtain  at  the  back.  In  this  most 
unpicturesque  costume  we  were  marched  to  church 
on  Sunday — two  and  two — where  my  enthusiastic 
singing  of  the  litany  generally  put  the  others  out, 
and  where,  to  the  horror  of  the  nuns,  in  my  haste 
to  leave  the  church,  I  invariably  genuflected  with 
my  back  to  the  altar.     The  first  year  went  by  quite 


AN  "EXHIBITION"  15 

uneventfully  until  the  end  of  the  term,  which 
was  celebrated,  as  usual,  by  an  "  exhibition,"  as  they 
called  the  songs  and  recitations  given  by  the 
children.  An  exhibition  it  was !  The  nuns,  know- 
ing that  my  mother  would  dress  me  tastefully  for 
the  occasion,  put  me  in  the  front  row  of  the  open- 
ing chorus — an  appropriate  one,  for  it  began  with: 

"  My  grandfather  had  some  very  fine  geese, 
Some  very  fine  geese  had  he, 

With  a  quack  quack  here,  and  a  quack  quack  there, 
And  here  a  quack,  there  quack,  here,  there  quack — 
Oh,  come  along,  girls,  to  the  merry  green  fields, 
To  the  merry  green  fields  so  gay !" 

This  artistically  poetic  and  musical  gem  con- 
tained verses  enough  to  name  all  the  animals  pos- 
sessed by  that  unfortunate  grandfather.  The  long 
rehearsals  over,  the  all  -  important  afternoon  ar- 
rived. I  dare  say  that  even  at  La  Scala,  on  a  first 
night,  there  never  had  been  more  flutter  and  nerv- 
ous excitement  than  on  our  little  stage.  The 
house  was  crowded  with  anxious  mothers,  sisters, 
cousins,  and  aunts — the  male  members  of  the  re- 
spective families  having  been  wise  enough  to  stop 
away.  At  last  the  curtain  rose.  My  poor  mother 
was  horrified  to  see  me  disgracing  my  prominent 
position  by  standing  more  awkwardly  than  any  of 


16  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

the  others,  my  pretty  frock  already  disarranged, 
and  my  hands  spread  so  conspicuously  over  my 
chest  that,  in  her  eyes,  they  soon  became  the 
most  prominent  part  of  the  scene.  Losing  the 
tune,  I  suddenly  stopped,  and  foolishly  began  to 
giggle.  My  mother  overheard  some  one  remark, 
"  What  a  funny,  awkward  little  girl !"  Others 
laughed  outright.  The  performance  over,  I  felt 
very  like  a  great  heroine,  and  took  my  "  consola- 
tion prize  "  (what  an  excellent  institution  it  is !)  as 
though  it  had  been  some  well-earned  laurel ;  only 
I  could  not  quite  understand  my  mother's  crest- 
fallen look.  That  was  my  "  first  appearance  upon 
any  stage !" 


CHAPTER   II 

During  the  following  term  the  convent  was 
stricken  with  a  contagious  fever,  and  I  was  taken 
away  from  its  friendly  shelter  just  as  I  had  begun 
to  love  it.  The  serious  illness  that  ensued  was 
made  almost  pleasant  by  my  mother's  care,  the 
companionship  of  that  best  of  friends,  my  brother 
Joe  (to  whom,  alas !  I  gave,  with  unconscious  lib- 
erality, all  the  ills  my  flesh  was  heir  to),  and  by  the 
frequent  visits  of  our  Nonie,  who  often  impro- 
vised, or  played  from  some  favorite  master,  on  the 
organ  below,  thus  cheering  my  convalescence,  and 
making  the  names  of  Mozart,  Haydn,  and  Bee- 
thoven familiar  to  me  long  before  I  had  ever  heard 
the  magic  one  of  Shakespeare.  A  year  of  idle- 
ness followed  this  illness,  greatly  relished  then, 
but  later,  when  the  irrevocable  flight  of  valu- 
able time  was  realized,  deeply  regretted.  De 
Quincey  says  that  by  deducting  time  for  eating, 
sleeping,  exercise,  bathing,  illness,  and  so  forth, 
a  person  of  threescore  and  ten  has  only  eleven 


1 8  A   FEW  MEMORIES 

and  a  half  years  left  for  the  development  of  what 
is  most  august  in  our  nature.  When  study  was 
recommenced,  it  was  at  a  day  school — the  Pres- 
entation Academy.  There,  with  accustomed  in- 
dolence, I  learned  nothing,  with  the  exception  of 
reading,  in  which  I  was  generally  head  of  the 
class.  Every  day  I  was  sent  to  school  with  a 
shining  morning  face,  a  fresh  frock,  and  a  tidy 
blue  ribbon  to  bind  my  obstreperous  locks.  Every 
evening  I  returned  home  with  the  frock  ink- 
stained  and  torn,  the  pretty  ribbon  lost,  and  look- 
ing about  the  head  and  hands  a  veritable  "  Stru- 
belpeter."  I  was  punished  continually  for  not 
knowing  my  lessons :  made  to  stand  in  a  corner 
balancing  a  book  upon  my  head,  or  to  sit  on  the 
dunce-stool,  which,  fortunately  for  me,  was  softly 
cushioned.  "  I  love  sitting  here,"  said  I  to  Sister 
du  Chantal — who  was  fond  of  me  in  spite  of  my 
mischievousness,  and  who  always  administered 
necessary  punishment  in  a  kindly  way — "for  I 
am  nearer  to  you,  can  see  the  girls  better,  and  this 
seat  is  so  much  more  comfortable  than  those  hard 
benches."  Dr.  Griffin's  brother,  Guilderoy  —  al- 
ways a  favorite  with  me — lived  near  us  in  those 
days.  He  was  a  man  of  talent,  who  had  written 
some  interesting  studies  on  literature  "  My  Da- 


GEORGE   D.  PRENTICE  19 

nish  Days,"  etc.,  while  he  filled  capably  the  posi- 
tion of  United  States  Consul  at  Copenhagen,  in 
Samoa,  and  New  Zealand.  In  Denmark  he  formed 
a  friendship  with  Hans  Christian  Andersen.  Un- 
selfish and  deeply  sympathetic,  Guilderoy  was 
popular  with  young  and  old.  My  brother  and  I 
were  taken  at  his  request  to  his  charming  parties 
whenever  any  person  of  interest  graced  them.  It 
was  on  one  of  these  occasions  that  I  saw  George 
D.  Prentice  for  the  first  time.  Celebrated  as  a 
poet  and  wit,  his  caustic  remarks  in  the  journal 
he  edited  made  him  the  object  of  as  much  fear  as 
admiration.  Having  been  told  that  Mr.  Prentice 
was  a  great  man,  that  he  was  not  to  be  talked  to 
or  stared  at,  my  terror  may  be  imagined  when  he 
took  me  on  his  knee;  for  though  his  heart  was 
kind,  his  face,  doubtless  from  having  had  many 
hard  fights  with  the  world,  wore  a  stern,  forbid- 
ding look,  and  was  deeply  furrowed  with  care- 
worn lines.  His  manner  was  gruff,  and  his  hands, 
I  noticed,  were  soiled  and  ink-stained.  After  trot- 
ting me  on  his  knee  until  I  was  "  distilled  almost 
to  jelly"  with  fear,  he  took  me  across  the  room  to 
ask  questions,  and  receive  answers  from  that  un- 
canny little  machine,  La  Planchette,  in  which  he 
was  greatly  interested.     The  result  of  that  meet- 


20  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

ing  was  a  frightful  nightmare,  in  which  Mr.  Pren- 
tice, with  his  gaunt  figure,  thin  gray  locks,  and 
Mephistophelian  brows,  appeared  as  a  magician, 
and  La  Planchette  as  a  small  grinning  devil  un- 
der his  spell. 

It  was  my  desire  to  be  always  good  and  obedi- 
ent, but,  like  "  Cousin  Phoenix's  legs,"  my  excellent 
intentions  generally  carried  me  in  the  opposite  di- 
rection. On  seeing  a  minstrel  show  for  the  first 
time  I  was  fired  with  a  desire  to  reproduce  it.  Af- 
ter a  week  of  secret  plotting  with  Joe,  I  invited 
Dr.  Griffin  and  my  mother  to  a  performance  of 
the  nature  of  which  they  were  utterly  ignorant.  It 
took  place  in  our  front  parlor,  the  audience  sitting 
in  the  back  room.  When  the  folding-doors  were 
thrown  open  my  baby  sister  and  I  were  discovered 
as  "  end  men."  She  was  but  eight  months  old, 
and  tied  to  a  chair.  Our  two  small  brothers  sat 
between  us,  and  we  were  all  as  black  as  burned 
cork  well  rubbed  in  by  my  managerial  hands  could 
make  us.  Blissfully  ignorant  of  my  mother's  mute 
consternation,  I  gayly  began  the  opening  chorus : 

"  Good-bye,  John  !     Don't  stay  long  ! 
Come  back  soon  to  your  own  chickabiddy." 

The  scene  that  ensued  I  need  not  describe.    Af- 


FARM    LIFE  21 


ter  being  punished  for  some  such  naughtiness,  I 
usually  wended  my  way  to  the  attic,  that  being  the 
most  gloomy  part  of  the  house,  where,  indulging 
my  misery  to  the  full,  I  would  imagine  myself  dead, 
and  revengefully  revel  in  the  thought  of  my  moth- 
er's repentant  grief  over  my  coffin.  On  seeing 
my  tear-stained  face  she  generally  gave  me  a 
"  dime,"  to  soothe  my  wounded  feelings,  which  it 
invariably  did  as  soon  as  I  could  reach  an  "  ice- 
cream saloon,"  and  there  invest  in  a  saucer  of 
"  child's  delight." 

At  that  time  my  brother  and  I  had  two  farms  in 
the  hills  of  Indiana.  Twice  a  year  we  crossed  the 
beautiful  Ohio  to  visit  them.  There  we  found 
some  excellent  horses,  and  it  was  not  long  before 
I  learned  to  catch  one  in  the  paddock  and  mount 
and  ride  without  saddle  or  bridle.  I  had  been 
strictly  forbidden  to  indulge  in  such  a  reckless 
amusement,  but  one  day,  seeing  a  wild-looking 
colt  prancing  about  the  pasture,  I  forgot  good  res- 
olutions and  promises,  and,  catching  him  after 
some  difficulty,  I  sprang  upon  his  back,  and 
away  we  flew.  He  soon  got  the  rope  between  his 
teeth,  and  my  control  over  him  was  gone.  He 
then  made  for  a  thick  wood,  and  dashed  under  so 
many  low-hanging  boughs  that  at  last   he  sue- 


22  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

ceeded  in  beating  me  off  his  back.  Quickly 
recovering,  I  remounted  him,  and  continued  rid- 
ing at  a  wild  pace  for  another  hour.  The  next 
morning,  as  I  was  unable  to  rise,  my  mother 
came  into  the  room  in  alarm.  She  soon  discov- 
ered that  I  had  been  badly  cut,  and,  to  quote  a 
friend,  was  covered  with  "  French  landscapes." 
For  a  long  while  it  was  thought  I  should  be  crip- 
pled for  life.  In  spite  of  various  accidents,  riding 
has  always  been  my  favorite  amusement.  Years 
after,  in  London,  a  well-known  riding-master  said 
to  me,  "  Why,  Miss  Handerson,  you  'ave  missed 
your  vocation.  What  a  hexcellent  circus  hactor 
you  would  'ave  made !  I'd  like  to  see  the  'orse  as 
could  throw  you  now."  My  early  training  without 
stirrups,  often  without  saddle  or  bridle,  had  taught 
me  how  to  sit  firmly. 

For  twelve  years  we  never  quitted  Kentucky, 
except  to  visit  our  farms  in  Indiana.  My  outer 
life  during  all  that  time  was  uneventful  and  com- 
monplace, tedious,  though  wholesomely  monoto- 
nous. One  of  our  few  excitements  was  the  usual 
summer  visit  to  the  beautiful  Blue  Grass  Country, 
near  Louisville,  where  the  long,  waving  grass,  es- 
pecially when  viewed  from  a  distance,  has  a  blue, 
silvery  bloom.       One   summer  our   holiday   was 


FIRST   HEARS   THE   NAME   OF   SHAKESPEARE        23 

passed  on  a  large  picturesque  farm,  near  which 
was  a  small  graveyard,  where  the  "  rude  forefa- 
thers "  of  the  farmers  slept.  It  was  a  wild,  romantic 
spot,  this  little  God's  acre.  I  went  there  frequent- 
ly, and  worked  myself  into  a  sham  sentimental 
sadness,  actually  shedding  tears  over  the  graves  of 
the  defunct  farmers  and  their  relics,  never  having 
seen  nor  heard  of  any  of  them,  and  knowing  their 
virtues  only  through  their  friendly  epitaphs. 
What  actors  we  all  are,  little  girls  in  particular ! 

Up  to  that  time  I  had  always  been  the  chief  of 
our  small  band — active,  impulsive,  full  of  initiative, 
and  energetic  to  a  fault.  Thought  and  feeling  had 
scarcely  been  awakened.  Even  my  religion  was 
purely  instinctive,  though  in  hours  of  need  my 
prayers  were  full  of  confidence  and  fervor. 

At  the  age  of  twelve  I  first  heard  the  name  of 
him  who  was  to  awaken  the  serious  side  of  my  nat- 
ure, and  eventually  shape  my  later  career.  One 
night  Dr.  Griffin,  who  had  in  his  youth  prided  him- 
self on  his  acting  as  an  amateur,  took  down  from 
the  book-shelf  a  large,  well-worn,  red-and-gold 
volume. 

"  This,"  he  said,  "  contains  all  the  plays  of  Will- 
iam Shakespeare,  and  I  mean  to  read  to  you  the 
great  master's  masterpiece,  *  Hamlet.' "     Though  I 


24  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

understood  nothing  of  the  subtle  thought  and 
beauty  of  the  tragedy,  the  mere  story,  characters, 
and,  above  all,  that  wonderful  though  nameless  at- 
mosphere that  pervades  all  of  Shakespeare's  dra- 
matic works,  delighted  and  thrilled  me.  For  days 
I  could  think  of  nothing  but  the  pale  face  and 
inky  cloak  of  the  melancholy  prince.  The  old  red 
volume  had  suddenly  become  like  a  casket  filled 
with  jewels,  whose  flames  and  flashes,  I  thought, 
might  glorify  a  life.  I  often  stopped  to  look  at  it 
with  longing  eyes,  and  one  day  could  not  resist 
climbing  up  to  take  it  from  its  shelf.  From  that 
time  most  of  my  play  hours  were  spent  poring 
over  it. 

One  night,  not  long  after,  the  family  were  sur- 
prised to  see  me  enter  the  parlor  enveloped  in 
one  of  Dr.  Griffin's  army  cloaks.  I  was  scowling 
tragically,  and  at  once  began  the  speech, 

"  Angels  and  ministers  of  grace,  defend  us ! 
Be  thou  a  spirit  of  health  or  goblin  damned," 

my  version  being, 

"  Angels  and  minstrels  of  grace,  defend  us  ! 
Be  thou  a  spirit  of  health,  or  goblirfs  dame" 

The  latter  innovation  was  made  to  evade  having 
on  my  conscience  so  sinful  a  "  swear  "  as  damned. 


A  DISRESPECTFUL   AUDIENCE  25 

Those  present,  seeing  the  drift  of  my  entrance, 
burst  into  laughter  at  the  droll  little  figure  with 
its  much  -  bepowdered  face.  Feeling  this  to  be 
disrespectful,  I  indignantly  quitted  the  room,  fall- 
ing over  the  cumbersome  cloak  in  what  was  meant 
to  be  a  majestic  exit.  Certainly  a  very  unpromis- 
ing first  appearance  in  the  bard's  great  master- 
piece ! 


CHAPTER  III 

The  first  play  I  ever  saw  was  "  Richard  the 
Third,"  with  Edwin  Adams  as  the  crook-backed 
tyrant.  Young,  graceful,  handsome,  an  ideal  actor 
in  romantic  characters,  he  was  hardly  fitted  for  so 
sombre  and  tragic  a  part.  Yet  the  force  of  his 
personal  magnetism  stamped  his  every  word,  look, 
and  gesture  indelibly  upon  my  memory.  The 
music  and  lights ;  the  actors  and  actresses,  whose 
painted  faces  seemed  far  more  perfect  to  me  then 
— I  was  but  twelve  years  old — than  anything  in 
nature;  luckless  Anne;  Henry  the  Sixth,  who, 
though  he  is  an  interloper  in  the  play,  makes, 
through  Cibber's  daring,  a  splendidly  effective 
acting  scene;  the  royal  army,  consisting  of  six 
"scrawny,"  knock-kneed  supers,  with  a  very  un- 
military  look  about  them — all  are  as  clear  before 
me  now  as  though  I  had  seen  them  yesterday. 
How  we  always  remember  the  first  dip  into  a  new 
sensation  after  impressions  of  things  a  hundred- 
fold greater  are  blotted  from  our  minds  ! 


READING  SHAKESPEARE   AND   BAKING   BREAD      2^ 

My  mother,  seeing  my  delight  in  the  play, 
promised  that,  if  we  deserved  it,  my  brother  and 
I  should  occasionally  attend  the  weekly  matinees. 
With  such  a  reward  as  two  theatre  tickets  in 
view,  any  amount  of  good  conduct  was  cheap  in 
payment.  I  became  less  mischievous  and  for- 
getful. 

We  were  blessed  with  but  little  of  this  world's 
goods  at  the  time,  and,  my  help  in  the  household 
being  needed,  I  was  taught  the  culinary  art.  In  a 
few  months  I  could  cook  an  excellent  dinner  when 
called  upon.  I  remember  sitting  by  the  stove 
with  a  basting -spoon  (to  be  used  on  a  turkey) 
in  one  hand,  and  Charles  Reade's  "  Put  Your- 
self in  His  Place"  in  the  other.  "The  Winter's 
Tale,"  "Julius  Caesar,"  and  "Richard  the  Third" 
were  also  read  as  I  sat  by  the  kitchen-fire  bak- 
ing bread.  The  theory  that  it  is  impossible  to  do 
two  things  at  once  did  not  appeal  to  me.  I  felt 
certain  that  no  one  could  enjoy  the  poet's  inspira- 
tion more  than  I,  and  at  the  same  time  turn  out 
a  better  loaf.  Thankful  I  have  always  been  for 
the  knowledge  of  these  useful  arts — which  I  think 
every  girl  should  master — as  they  are  wholesome 
both  for  mind  and  body. 

When  the  longed-for  Saturday  came,  little  Joe 


28  A    FEW   MEMORIES 

and  I  would  start  for  the  old  Louisville  theatre, 
then  on  the  corner  of  Fourth  and  Green  streets, 
quite  two  hours  before  the  doors  were  opened. 
The  man  in  the  lobby,  observing  my  singular  keen- 
ness, soon  allowed  us,  early  as  it  was,  to  enter; 
though  he  was  compelled  to  lock  the  door  after 
us.  We  would  then  sit  alone  in  the  large,  dimly 
lighted  theatre,  feeling  the  most  privileged  of 
mortals,  silently  watching  the  great  green  curtain, 
and  imagining  all  the  enchantments  it  concealed. 
After  an  hour  of  such  amusement,  mysterious 
feet,  generally  in  shabby  boots  and  shoes,  were 
seen  under  the  curtain.  This  caused  us  great  ex- 
citement. Then  the  doors  opened ;  people  began 
to  drop  in ;  there  was  a  rustle  of  programmes  and 
banging  of  seats.  Suddenly  the  foot-lights  flared 
against  the  green  curtain,  under  which  mysterious 
feet  were  seen  again,  this  time  in  dainty  satin 
slippers  or  shoes :  so  many  feet,  so  differently 
shod,  yet  all  meeting  on  one  common  ground 
before  the  peep-hole  in  the  curtain.  Then  the 
orchestra,  full  of  noise,  especially  at  the  "furioso 
finale";  after  which  a  tinkling  bell,  and,  to  the 
traditional  pizzicato  (if  the  villain  commenced  the 
play)  or  the  sweet  tremolo  of  violins  (if  the  angelic 
maiden   began),  the   curtain   slowly  rose.     From 


EDWIN    BOOTH  29 

that  moment  we  became  oblivious  of  everything 
but  the  scene  before  us,  and  only  after  the  curtain 
fell  upon  the  last  act  was  our  dream  broken, 
when,  with  a  shock,  we  found  ourselves  once 
more  in  the  cold  and  dusky  streets.  To  leave  the 
Temple  of  Enchantment  and  come  back  to  com- 
monplace realities  was  our  only  sadness.  Fairy 
plays,  melodramas,  and  minstrel  shows  formed  our 
regular  menu.  An  announcement  that  Edwin 
Booth  was  to  visit  Louisville  filled  its  play-goers 
with  delightful  anticipations.  Times  were  hard, 
we  were  poor,  and  many  sacrifices  had  to  be  made 
to  enable  us  to  witness  a  few  of  his  performances. 
"  Richelieu  "  was  the  first  of  the  series.  What  a 
revelation  it  was !  I  had  never  seen  any  great 
acting  before,  and  it  proved  a  turning-point  in  my 
life.  The  subtle  cunning  with  which  the  artist 
invested  the  earlier  parts  of  the  play  was  as  irre- 
sistible as  the  power,  fire,  and  pathos  of  the  later 
scenes  were  terrible  and  electrifying.  It  was  im- 
possible to  think  of  him  as  an  actor.  He  was 
Richelieu.  I  felt  for  the  first  time  that  acting 
was  not  merely  a  delightful  amusement,  but  a 
serious  art  that  might  be  used  for  high  ends. 
After  that  brilliant  performance  sleep  was  im- 
possible.   On  returning  home  I  sat  at  the  window 


30  A    FEW    MEMORIES 

of  my  little  room  until  morning.  The  night 
passed  like  an  hour.  Before  the  dawn  I  had 
mapped  out  a  stage  career  for  myself.  Thus  far, 
having  had  no  fixed  aim  of  my  own  making  or 
liking,  I  had  frittered  my  time  away.  Then  I 
realized  that  my  idle  life  must  end,  and  that  much 
study  and  severe  training  would  have  to  be  under- 
taken ;  this  in  secret,  however,  for  there  was  no 
one  to  go  to  for  sympathy,  help,  or  advice  in  such 
a  venture.  Indignant  that  all  my  people  had, 
in  times  gone  by,  looked  upon  so  noble  an  art 
as  harmful,  if  not  sinful,  I  felt  no  prick  of  con- 
science in  determining  to  work  out  clandestinely 
what  seemed  to  me  then  my  life's  mission.  I 
was  fourteen  years  of  age,  inexperienced  and  un- 
educated, but  I  had  not  a  moment  of  doubt  or 
fear.  Mr.  Booth's  *  other  performances  intensi- 
fied my  admiration  for  his  art,  and  strengthened 
me  in  my  resolution.  Who  can  ever  forget  his 
Hamlet?  Where  shall  we  find  another  such 
Iago,  Richard,  Macbeth,  Shylock?     Surely, 

♦That  charming  woman  and  artist,  Helen  Faucit  (Lady  Martin), 
once  told  me  that,  since  Macready,  few  actors  had  approached  Mr. 
Booth  in  intellectuality,  perfect  elocution,  grace,  personal  magnetism, 
or  the  power  of  complete  identification  with  his  characters.  It  was  a 
great  pride  to  me,  an  American,  that  this  gifted  and  severely  critical 
Englishwoman  appreciated  so  unstintedly  our  beloved  actor. 


STUDYING  AT   HOME  31 

"  He  was  the  Jew 
That  Shakespeare  drew." 

Would  not  Macklin  himself  have  given  him  the 
palm  for  his  portrayal  of  that  great  character  ?  I 
am  proud  to  owe  my  awakening  to  the  possibilities 
of  dramatic  art  to  such  a  master. 

His  engagement  over,  I  made  a  proposition  to 
my  mother,  a  promise  rather,  that  I  would  apply 
myself  earnestly  to  study  if  allowed  to  work  at 
home,  school  having  grown  unbearable ;  I  agreed 
that,  if  at  the  end  of  a  month  she  saw  no  improve- 
ment, I  would  willingly  return  to  the  academy. 
After  much  consideration,  she  determined  to  give 
this  new  arrangement  a  trial,  the  old  one  having 
been  far  from  successful.  I  selected  for  my  study 
a  small  whitewashed  carpetless  room  at  the  top 
of  the  house,  where  no  one  was  likely  to  intrude ; 
its  only  furniture  a  table  and  chair,  a  crucifix,  a 
bust  of  Shakespeare,  a  small  photograph  of 
Edwin  Booth,  and  a  pair  of  foils,  which  I  had 
learned  to  use  with  some  skill.  Bronson,  Corn- 
stock,  and  Murdock  on  Elocution,  Rush  on  the 
Voice,  Plutarch's  Lives,  Homer's  Iliad,  and  the 
beloved  red-and-gold  volume  of  Shakespeare  were 
my  only  books;  and  these  had  been  stolen  by 
degrees    from    the    library   below.      After    many 


32  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

years  in   more  luxurious  apartments,   how  often 
have  I  longed  for  that  fresh,  sunshiny  little  den  ! 

A  short  time  before,  I  had  had  an  attack  of 
malignant  diphtheria,  which  would  have  proved 
fatal  but  for  the  successful  operation  Nonie  had 
been  bold  enough  to  perform.  The  attack  left  my 
throat  very  weak.  Realizing  that  a  far-reaching 
voice  was  one  of  the  actor's  most  essential  instru- 
ments, my  first  effort,  on  beginning  work,  was  to 
strengthen  mine.  In  Comstock  there  were  certain 
instructions  upon  breathing  which  I  promptly 
made  use  of.  Strange  it  is,  but  very  few  of  us 
know  how  to  breathe  properly.  The  simple 
method  of  taking  a  deep,  full  breath  through  the 
nose,  without  strain,  holding  it  as  long  as  possible 
and  slowly  exhaling  it  through  the  mouth,  never 
going  through  the  exercise  more  than  twelve 
times  consecutively,  and  always  in  the  open  air, 
not  only  freshens  one,  like  a  dip  in  the  sea,  but, 
when  followed  by  certain  vocal  exercises,  gives 
control  over  the  voice,  which  it  strengthens  and 
makes  melodious.  At  the  end  of  six  months  my 
voice  was  hardly  recognizable,  it  had  become  so 
much  fuller  and  stronger.  Here  was  a  great 
difficulty  overcome.  As  a  voice  that  can  be  heard 
is  the  alpha  of  the  actor,  grace  is  one  of  the  requi- 


MY   FIRST  APPLAUSE  33 

sites  next  in  importance.  Tall  for  my  age,  I  was 
conscious  of  being  extremely  awkward.  This  de- 
fect was  not  so  easily  remedied,  and  for  years,  in 
spite  of  constant  efforts  to  conquer  it,  remained 
one  of  my  great  drawbacks. 

The  parts  of  Richard  the  Third,  Richelieu, 
Pauline,  and  Schiller's  Joan  of  Arc  were  memo- 
rized and  studied  in  detail.  School-room  lessons 
were  also  worked  at  with  such  good-will  that  in 
one  month  I  had  made  more  progress  than  during 
six  at  school.  So  satisfactory  was  the  new  system 
that  it  was  allowed  to  continue.  The  real  cause  of 
this  improvement  no  one  guessed.  My  secret, 
however,  consumed  me.  I  longed  to  tell  some  one 
of  my  plans  for  the  future,  and,  above  all,  to  show 
how  I  could  read  and  act,  for  as  yet  I  had  no 
proof  that  I  was  working  in  the  right  direction. 

In  the  South  most  of  the  servants  were  negroes. 
Among  ours  was  a  little  mulatto  girl  ("  nut-brown 
maid,"  she  called  herself),  whose  chief  attraction  to 
me  was  her  enthusiasm  for  the  theatre.     One  nisrht 

O 

in  desperation  I  went  to  her  while  she  was  wash- 
ing dishes  in  the  kitchen,  and  there  unfolded  all 
my  hopes.  It  was  to  her  I  first  acted,  and  it  was 
she  who  gave  me  my  first  applause.  The  clapping 
of  those  soapy,  steaming  hands  seemed  to  me  a 

3 


34  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

veritable  triumph.  Believing  that  a  tragic  manner 
alone  would  sufficiently  impress  the  situation  on 
the  "  nut-brown  maid,"  I  began  with  a  hollow  voice 
and  much  furrowing  of  the  brow,  "  Juli,  wilt  thou 
follow  and  assist  me  when  I  quit  my  childhood's 
home  to  walk  in  the  path  of  Siddons,  Kemble,  and 
Booth  ?"  "  Oh,  Miss  Manie,  you  kin  count  on  dis 
pusson,  fo'  de  Lor'  you  kin !  Why,  my  stars,  what 
a  boss  actor  you  is  !  But  you  mus'  'low  me  to  call 
your  maw;"  and  in  a  trice  she  was  gone.  A  few 
moments  later  she  re-entered  the  kitchen  with  my 
mother,  who  was  greatly  surprised  by  my  perform- 
ance in  the  fourth  act  of  "  The  Lady  of  Lyons," 
which  could  not  have  been  acted  in  a  more  appro- 
priate part  of  the  house.  She,  in  turn,  called  the 
critic  of  the  family,  Dr.  Griffin,  who  likewise  was 
astonished,  and  made  my  heart  beat  with  joy  by 
saying,  "  You'll  make  a  good  actress  some  day. 
Your  scene  has  thrilled  me,  and  I  would  rather 
have  rough  work  and  a  good  thrill  than  any  amount 
of  artistic  work  without  it."  Spurred  on  by  such 
encouragement  I  worked  harder  than  ever,  often 
staying  up  half  the  night  to  get  some  effect  while 
trying  to  look  into  the  heart  and  mind  of  the  char- 
acter under  study.  After  that  evening  in  the 
kitchen  I  read  scenes  or  acted  them  nightly  to  our 


HAILED    AS   THE   AMERICAN    RACHEL  35 

small  household,  usually  from   "  Hamlet,"  "  Rich- 
ard," or  Schiller's  "  Maid  of  Orleans." 

Dr.  Griffin  was  practising  medicine  at  the  time, 
and  happened  to  be  called  in  to  see  Mr.  Henry 
Wouds,*  the  leading  comedian  of  Macauley's  The- 
atre.    He  spoke  to  the  actor  so  continually  and 
enthusiastically  of  my  work,  that  the  latter  at  last 
requested  a  reading  from  me.     Richard  was  the 
part,  I  determined,  would  be  the  best,  not  to  read, 
but  to  act  for  him.     The  interval  before  the  day 
fixed  for  this  trial  was  intensely  exciting,  and  I 
was  painfully  nervous  on  seeing  Mr.  Wouds,  ac- 
companied by  the  stage  and  business  managers 
of  the  theatre,  coming  towards  our  house.     I  had 
never  before  seen  an  actor  off  the  stage ;  this  was 
in  itself  a  sensation,  and  I  felt,  besides,  that  my 
whole  future  depended  on  his  judgment  of  my 
work.     The   acting  began,  and  was  continually 
applauded.     When  over,  Mr.  Wouds  sprang  tow- 
ards me,  and,  taking  both  my  hands,  said,  "  Let 
me  be  the  first  to  hail  you  as  our  American  Ra- 
chel."     Those   never-to-be-forgotten  words   from 
an  actor  whom  I  had  so  often  admired  left  me 
speechless  with  gratitude ;  more  to  Heaven,  how- 

*  A  few  years  later,  wearying  of  the  stage,  Mr.  Wouds  entered  the 
Church,  where  his  preaching  was  highly  appreciated. 


36  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

ever,  than  to  him,  for  I  felt  my  constant  prayers 
for  success  had  been  answered,  and  that  to  them 
alone  could  such  wonders  be  attributed.  The 
others  likewise  made  predictions  for  my  future 
as  flattering  as  they  were  unexpected.  They  ad- 
vised me  to  continue  working  as  I  had  begun, 
agreeing  that  earnest  study  in  my  case  would  be 
more  effective  than  beginning  in  a  stock  com- 
pany at  the  foot  of  the  ladder. 

Mr.  Wouds  was  soon  called  away  to  support 
Miss  Charlotte  Cushman  during  her  engagement 
in  Cincinnati,  Ohio.  He  evidently  spoke  of  my 
work  to  the  great  artist,  for,  a  few  days  after  his 
departure,  a  letter  came  from  him  saying  that 
Miss  Cushman  wished  to  hear  me  read.  She 
had  said  to  him,  "  My  good  friend,  I  trust  your 
judgment  as  far  as  I  trust  any  one's,  but  in  such 
matters  I  prefer  my  own  opinion.  You  have 
aroused  my  curiosity.  Use  your  influence  to  get 
the  girl  to  come  and  read  or  act  for  me."  My 
mother,  thinking  such  attentions  injurious  to  one 
so  young,  grew  nervous  when  she  saw  that  not 
only  was  I  bent  upon  going,  but  that  my  usual 
champion,  Dr.  Griflfin,  meant  to  aid  and  abet  me. 
He  urged  her  to  make  the  short  trip,  if  only 
to   see  the  great  actress.     With   much  persua- 


CHARLOTTE   CUSHMAN   AS   MEG   MERRILIES         37 

sion  he  won  the  day,  and  we  started  for  Cincin- 
nati. 

The  first  character  in  which  we  saw  Miss  Cush- 
man  was  Meg  Merrilies,  in  an  indifferent  dramati- 
zation of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  "  Guy  Mannering." 
When,  in  the  moonlight  of  the  scene,  she  dashed 
from  her  tent  on  to  the  stage,  covered  with  the 
gray,  shadowy  garments  of  the  gypsy  sibyl,  her 
appearance  was  ghost-like  and  startling  in  the 
extreme.  In  her  mad  rushes  on  and  off  the  sta^e 
she  was  like  a  cyclone.     During  her  prophecy — 

"The  dark  shall  be  light 
And  the  wrong  made  right, 
And  Bertram's  right,  and  Bertram's  might, 
Shall  meet  on  Ellengowan's  height" — 

she  stood  like  some  great  withered  tree,  her  arms 
stretched  out,  her  white  locks  flying,  her  eyes 
blazing  under  their  shaggy  brows.  She  was  not 
like  a  creature  of  this  world,  but  like  some  mad 
majestic  wanderer  from  the  spirit-land.  When 
Dirk  Hatterick's  fatal  bullet  entered  her  body,  and 
she  came  staggering  down  the  stage,  her  terrible 
shriek  *  so  wild  and  piercing,  so  full  of  agony  and 

*  An  actor  who  played  Dirk  Hattcrick  with  her  told  me  that  at  this 
climax  she  struck  her  breast,  which  was  like  a  coal  of  fire  with  the  dis- 
ease that  was  fast  killing  her,  and  that  her  cry  was  one  of  intense  agony. 


38  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

yet  of  the  triumph  she  had  given  her  life  to  gain, 
told  the  whole  story  of  her  love  and  her  revenge. 
When,  after  her  awfully  realistic  death  scene,  she 
had  been  carried  from  the  stage,  there  was  perfect 
silence  in  the  crowded  theatre,  and  not  until  the 
curtain  fell  upon  the  last  few  lines  of  the  play  did 
shouts  of  enthusiasm  break  the  stillness.  The 
surprise  and  pleasure  of  the  audience  knew  no 
bounds  when,  having  washed  off  her  witch's  mask, 
she  came  before  them  in  propria  persona,  a  sweet- 
faced  old  lady,  with  a  smile  all  kindness,  and  a  gra- 
ciousness  of  manner  quite  royal.  Indeed,  I  never 
saw  such  charm  and  dignity  until  years  after,  at 
Westminster  Abbey,  when,  celebrating  her  Golden 
Jubilee,  Queen  Victoria,  with  one  sweeping  cour- 
tesy, acknowledged  with  majestic  grace  the  pres- 
ence of  the  assembled  multitude. 

It  was  arranged  that  we  should  meet  Miss  Cush- 

Talma  believed  that  an  actor  had  two  distinct  beings  in  him,  apart  from 
the  good  and  the  evil  we  all  possess — viz.,  the  artist,  who  is  any  character 
he  may  be  cast  for,  and  the  man  in  his  own  person.  His  theory  was  that 
the  artist  always  studies  the  man,  and  cannot  consider  himself  near  per- 
fection until  he  becomes  master  of  the  man's  every  mood  and  emotion. 
He  describes  the  death-bed  of  his  father,  and  the  grief  he  felt  in  losing 
so  excellent  a  parent,  but  adds  that  even  in  that  solemn  moment  the  artist 
began  curiously  to  study  the  grief  of  the  man.  Yet  he  does  not  speak 
of  the  artist  giving  the  man  physical  pain  for  the  production  of  a  stage 
effect,  as  did  the  great  Cushman. 


ACTING  BEFORE  CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN     39 

man  the  next  day.  We  accordingly  awaited  her 
in  the  large  parlor  of  the  hotel.  Presently  we 
heard  a  heavy,  masculine  tread,  and  a  voice,  too 
high  for  a  man's,  too  low  for  a  woman's,  saying, 
"  I  am  sorry  to  be  late,  but  some  of  the  actors 
were  duller  than  usual  this  morning."  She  stood 
before  us,  her  well-set  figure  simply  clad,  the  short 
hair  in  her  neck  still  in  curling-pins,  showing  a 
delightful  absence  of  vanity,  for  she  had  just  come 
in  from  the  street.  She  looked  at  me  for  a  mo- 
ment with  the  keenest  interest  in  her  kind,  blue- 
gray  eyes,  then  wrung  my  hand  with  unexpected 
warmth.  "  Come,  come,  let  us  lose  no  time,"  said 
she,  in  her  brisk,  business-like  way.  "  Let  us  see 
what  you  can  do.  Richard  !  Hamlet !  Richelieu  ! 
Schiller's  Maid  of  Orleans !  A  curious  selection 
for  such  a  child  to  make.  But  begin,  for  I  am 
pressed  for  time."  It  was  trying  to  stand  without 
preparation  before  so  great  a  woman,  but,  with  a 
determined  effort  to  forget  her,  I  acted  scenes 
from  "  Richelieu"  and  "Jeanne  d'Arc."  When  the 
trial  was  over,  I  stood  before  her  in  that  state  of 
flush  and  quiver  which  often  follows  our  best  ef- 
forts. Laying  her  hand  kindly  upon  my  shoulder, 
"  My  child,"  said  she, "  you  have  all  the  attributes 
that  go  to  make  a  fine  actress ;  too  much  force 


40  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

and  power  at  present,  but  do  not  let  that  trouble 
you.  Better  have  too  much  to  prune  down,  than 
a  little  to  build  up."  My  mother  was  troubled  at 
hearing  her  speak  so  calmly  of  the  stage  as  my 
future  career,  and  protested  earnestly.  No  one, 
she  said,  of  her  family,  nor  of  my  father's,  had 
ever  been  on  the  stage,  and  she  added  that,  to  be 
frank,  she  did  not  like  the  atmosphere  of  the 
theatre,  and  could  not  look  with  favor  upon  a 
child  of  hers  adopting  it  as  a  profession.  Miss 
Cushman  listened  attentively.  "  My  dear  madam," 
she  answered,  "  you  will  not  judge  the  profession 
so  severely  when  you  know  it  better.  Encourage 
your  child ;  she  is  firmly,  and  rightly,  I  think, 
resolved  on  going  upon  the  stage.  If  I  know 
anything  of  character,  she  will  go  with  or  without 
your  consent.  Is  it  not  so  ?"  (to  me).  "  Yes," 
said  I — and  how  my  heart  beat  at  the  confession ! 
"  Be  her  friend,"  continued  she  to  my  mother. 
"  Give  her  your  aid ;  no  harm  can  come  to  her 
with  you  by  her  side."  Then  turning  to  me  again, 
"  My  advice  to  you  is  not  to  begin  at  the  bottom 
of  the  ladder ;  for  I  believe  the  drudgery  of  small 
parts,  in  a  stock  company,  without  encouragement, 
often  under  the  direction  of  coarse  natures,  would 
be  crushing  to  you.     As  a  rule  I  advocate  begin- 


CHARLOTTE  CUSHMAN'S  ADVICE  41 

ning  at  the  lowest  round,  but  I  believe  you  will 
gain  more  by  continuing  as  you  have  begun.  Only 
go  to  my  friend,  George  Vandenhoff,  and  tell  him 
from  me  that  he  is  to  clip  and  tame  you  generally. 
I  prophesy  a  future  for  you  if  you  continue  work- 
ing earnestly.  God  be  with  you !  Doubtless  in 
a  year  or  two  you  will  be  before  the  public.  May 
I  be  there  to  see  your  success  !"*  With  a  hearty 
farewell  she  stalked  out  of  the  room.  That  was 
our  first  and  last  interview.  In  her  almost  brusque 
manner  she  had  led  me  to  the  right  path,  and 
had,  in  less  than  an  hour,  fought  successfully  the 
dreaded  battle  with  my  mother.  In  two  years' 
time  I  had  made  my  debut  upon  the  stage,  and 
she,  the  greatest  of  all  American  actresses,  was 
sleeping  her  last  sleep  in  a  laurel-covered  grave 
at  Mount  Auburn. 

*  Miss  Cushman's  words  have  been  given,  not  because  they  were  flat- 
tering to  the  writer,  but  because  they  show  the  quick  decisiveness,  insight 
into  character,  and  generosity  of  the  eminent  woman. 


CHAPTER   IV 

It  was  arranged  after  much  discussion,  and 
great  difficulty  in  obtaining  the  wherewithal,  that 
we  should  go  to  New  York  to  consult  Mr.  George 
Vandenhoff .  After  the  interview  with  Miss  Cush- 
man  (whose  kind  interest  in  me  I  can  never 
forget),  and  assured  that  only  good  characters 
in  good  plays  would  be  attempted,  my  mother 
became  greatly  interested  in  my  work.  Her  help 
in  every  way  proved  inestimable. 

It  was  with  delight  that  we  started  for  New 
York.  Apart  from  the  novelty  of  a  first  long 
journey,  and  the  pleasure  of  watching  the  varied 
scenery,  I  felt  an  indescribably  joyous  gratitude  to 
Heaven  in  realizing  that  every  mile  was  taking 
me  to  further  advancement  in  my  work,  and  near- 
er to  the  life  I  was  longing  to  begin.  Arrived  at 
our  destination,  and  marvelling  at  the  great  city, 
I  found  myself  in  the  home  of  my  mother's  people. 
For  the  first  time  I  saw  my  excellent  grandparents. 
We  immediately  lost  our  hearts  to  one  another. 


At  Sixteen.     From  Photograph. 


GEORGE  VANDENHOFF  43 

They  seemed  to  realize  that  the  severe  though 
well-meant  discipline  with  which  they  had  brought 
up  their  children  had  been  a  mistake,  and,  as  most 
of  us  do,  on  becoming  conscious  of  our  errors, 
rushed  to  the  other  extreme,  allowing  me  to  rule, 
a  monarch  supreme.  They  were  charmingly  old- 
fashioned  people.  Though  they  had  left  their 
home  at  Dusseldorf  when  first  married,  and  had 
spent  the  best  part  of  their  lives  in  America,  their 
strong  German  accent  never  left  them.  Knowing 
their  violent  prejudice  against  the  theatre,  we  de- 
cided not  to  reveal  to  them  the  object  of  our  visit. 
My  ambitions  and  hopes  were  likewise  kept  from 
Pater  Anton.  It  was  painful  to  hold  back  from 
them  what  was  so  engrossing  to  us,  but  we  did  so, 
fearing  a  possible  estrangement.  Being  tempted 
on  one  occasion  to  confess  all,  I  began  by  men- 
tioning the  name  of  Edwin  Booth.  They  had 
heard  it,  or  seen  it  on  some  street  poster,  but — 
"  These  actors  with  their  dreadful  painted  faces, 
their  lives  of  unwholesome  publicity  and  excite- 
ment, and  the  vanity  it  all  leads  to,  why  should 
you  speak  of  them  ?"  I  discreetly  dropped  the 
subject,  feeling  it  would  be  kinder  to  leave  them 
in  ignorance  of  my  plans. 

The  first  interview  with  Mr.  Vandenhoff  was 


44  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

most  disheartening.  Though  already  advanced  in 
years,  he  was  full  of  fire  and  vigor.  The  expres- 
sion of  his  face  was  stern  and  far  from  encourag- 
ing ;  and  his  manner  on  that  day  was  annoying  in 
its  extreme  brusqueness.  He  insisted  upon  my 
reading  from  a  book.  This  was  a  blow ;  a  book 
is  such  a  hinderance  when  you  know  the  words 
thoroughly.  I  began  the  first  scene  from  "  Rich- 
ard the  Third :" 

"  '  Now  is  the  winter  of  our  discontent 

Made  glorious  summer  by  this  sun  of  York, 
And  all  the  clouds  that  lowered  upon  our  house 
In  the  deep  bosom  of  the  ocean  buried !'  " 

"  Stop !"  he  thundered  ;  "  you  would  split  the 
ears  of  the  groundlings  with  a  voice  like  that!" 
This  reproof,  though  he  nearly  split  our  ears  in 
uttering  it,  was  well  merited,  for  I  had  not  yet 
learned  that  one  cannot  touch  the  heart  by  pierc- 
ing the  ear.  But  it  seemed  then  a  cruelly  unjust 
rebuke.  His  constant  interruptions  embarrassed 
and  put  me  at  my  worst.  Tyro-like,  I  chafed  and 
champed  under  the  curb,  and  my  relief  knew  no 
bounds  when  the  ten  lessons,  of  an  hour  each, 
were  over.  The  experience,  however,  had  tamed, 
clipped,  and  done  me  general  good,  and  I  shall 
always  be  grateful  to  that  capital  actor  and  teacher 


A   NEW   PLAN   OF   STUDY  45 

of  declamation  for  showing  me  the  folly  of  at- 
tempting male  characters,  and  for  suggesting  Ju- 
liet, Julia,  Pauline,  and  Evadne  as  better  suited  to 
my  sex  and  youth.  He  had  met  my  unbridled  en- 
thusiasm with  a  calm,  business-like  check  at  every 
turn,  which,  though  painfully  irritating  at  the  time, 
was  very  beneficial  afterwards.  Though  we  met 
no  more  as  master  and  pupil,  he  continued  till  the 
time  of  his  death  a  kind  and  helpful  friend.  Re- 
turning to  Louisville,  study  was  begun  on  a  new 
plan.  I  had  learned  from  Mr.  Vandenhoff  to  turn 
my  den  into  a  stage.  Imagining  one  of  the  walls 
to  be  the  auditorium,  it  needed  but  a  step  further 
to  crowd  the  house  with  an  enthusiastic  public. 
A  thin  audience  was  never  seen  in  that  theatre. 
Chairs  were  made  to  represent  the  different  char- 
acters, and  a  bust  of  Shakespeare  (the  Chandos,  to 
my  mind  the  finest  of  all,  though  unfortunately 
not  as  authentic  as  the  Stratford)  was  placed  at  a 
proper  height,  and  converted  into  the  "  leading 
juvenile."  Clifford,  Claude,  Colonna  were  the 
parts  assigned  to  it,  but  as  Romeo,  I  imagined,  it 
looked  least  stony.  Six  months  of  solitary  work 
were  now  begun.  Dancing  and  music,  of  which 
I  was  passionately  fond,  were  renounced,  and  my 
girlhoods  friends  and  companions  given  up.    The 


46  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

exaggeration  of  youth  led  me  to  believe  that  com- 
plete concentration  on  the  one  subject  alone  would 
lead  to  success.  The  labor  was  particularly  hard, 
working  as  I  did  in  the  dark,  having  no  one  to 
consult  and  no  experience  to  guide  me.  I  longed 
for  help,  which  never  came,  except  from  my  moth- 
er, who  was  as  ignorant  as  I  of  the  rules  of  dra- 
matic art.  Still  we  worked  on  incessantly,  I  pro- 
ducing effects,  she  criticising  them  to  the  best  of 
her  ability.  Often  in  the  middle  of  the  night  I 
would  awaken  her  to  show  some  new  point.  In- 
deed, I  owe  more  to  her  constant  and  loving  inter- 
est and  encouragement  than  I  can  ever  hope  to 
repay.  To  get  the  hollow  tones  of  Juliet's  voice 
in  the  tomb,  and  better  realize  my  heroine's  feel- 
ings on  awakening  in  her  "  nest  of  death,  conta- 
gion, and  unnatural  sleep,"  I  frequently  walked  to 
Cave  Hill,  Louisville's  beautiful  cemetery,  there  to 
speak  her  lines  through  the  grilled  door  of  a  vault. 
Had  a  thorough  schooling  in  the  art  been  possi- 
ble, instead  of  these  random  and  unguided  efforts, 
my  work  would  have  been  halved  and  its  results 
doubled. 

After  a  year  of  this  in  many  ways  useless  labor, 
no  engagement  seeming  possible  even  in  the  dis- 
tant future  (we  knew  no  manager,  and  Mr.  Wouds 


JOHN   McCULLOUGH  47 

had  left  our  city),  I  grew  ill  with  weariness  and 
discouragement.  Hope  had  almost  sunk  beneath 
my  horizon  when  John  McCullough  was  an- 
nounced to  appear  in  Louisville. 

Anxious  to  cheer  me,  Dr.  Griffin  pocketed  his 
pride,  and,  without  an  introduction,  called  upon 
the  actor.  Telling  him  of  my  despondency,  he 
gave  a  description  of  my  work,  as  seen  through 
his  prejudiced  eyes.  Mr.  McCullough  hated 
stage  -  struck  people,  and  said  as  much.  He 
came  to  our  house,  he  afterwards  owned,  only  to 
rid  himself  of  Dr.  Griffin's  importunities.  It  was 
humiliating  for  my  excellent  friend  and  step-father 
to  have  to  beg  an  audience  of  one  on  whom  he 
had  no  claim,  but  he  kept  to  his  point,  and  at  last 
won  the  actor's  consent  to  give  me  a  hearing.  As 
may  be  imagined,  when  Spartacus  *  arrived,  he 
was  in  a  gladiatorial  mood,  ready  to  combat  the 
entire  family,  its  stage-struck  heroine  in  particu- 
lar. Seeing  that  we  listened  to  his  tirade  against 
"  would-be  actors  "  quite  unmoved,  he  changed  his 
manner,  yawned,  looked  bored,  and  was  generally 
disagreeable.  "  I  have  only  a  quarter  of  an  hour," 
he  said,  "  and  as  you  will  have  my  opinion  of  your 

#  The  leading  character  in  the  tragedy  of  "  The  Gladiator,"  with  which 
Mr.  McCullough  was  always  identified  after  Forrest's  death. 


48  A   FEW    MEMORIES 

daughters  abilities,  she  had  better  begin  at  once. 
Be  on  your  guard"  (to  me);  "  I  shall  observe  every 
look  and  tone  and  criticise  your  work  unspar- 
ingly." In  spite  of  his  discouraging  manner  and 
words,  I  went  through  the  potion  scene  of  "  Romeo 
and  Juliet,"  forgetting  the  stern  critic  entirely  af- 
ter the  first  few  lines.  When  I  had  finished  his 
manner  had  changed.  He  remained  for  several 
hours,  acting  with  me  scenes  from  all  the  plays  I 
knew. 

After  months  of  rehearsing  with  the  dumb  bust 
in  my  imaginary  theatre,  it  was  with  an  indescrib- 
able emotion  that  I  found  myself  acting  for  the 
first  time  with  a  living,  breathing  Colonna,  Claude, 
Macbeth.  After  our  first  interview,  which  began 
so  unpromisingly,  he  was  kind  enough  to  propose 
our  reading  or  acting  scenes  from  Shakespeare 
daily  together.  He  likewise  took  us  all  to  the 
first  rehearsal  we  had  ever  seen.  On  entering  at 
the  back  of  the  auditorium,  I  could  not  realize 
that  the  barren,  dusky,  barn-like  opening  before 
me  was  the  stage  I  had  always  thought  the  most 
glittering  and  romantic  place  in  the  world.  As  to 
the  play,  I  have  never  seen  it  performed,  and  to 
this  day  have  no  idea  what  it  is  about.  The  act- 
ors, book  in  hand,  mumbled  their  parts  indistinct- 


JOHN   McCULLOUGH'S   FRIENDSHIP  49 

ly.  Those  who  had  acted  in  the  piece  before 
spoke  only  the  last  three  words  of  their  speeches, 
or,  in  professional  parlance,  "  came  to  cues."  It 
was  one  of  those  rapid,  careless  rehearsals  that 
could  not  well  be  avoided  with  the  unfortunate 
stock -company  system,  for,  during  a  week's  en- 
gagement, a  legitimate  "star"  had  time  for  only 
one  rehearsal  daily,  as  the  programme  was  gener- 
ally changed  every  night.  It  was  extraordinary 
how,  with  such  poor  preparation,  the  actors  man- 
aged to  get  through  their  performances  at  all. 
The  jumble  of  dumb-show  and  meaningless  noise 
over,  Mr.  McCullough  introduced  us  to  the  mana- 
ger of  the  theatre,  Mr.  Barney  Macauley,  known 
later  as  "  Uncle  Dan'l."  "  Barney,"  said  he,  "  when 
you  can,  put  this  girl  on  the  stage.  If  I  am  a 
judge  of  such  matters,  she  will  make  a  fortune  for 
you."  Before  he  left  Louisville  he  offered  me 
the  part  of  Lady  Anne,  in  "  Richard  the  Third," 
the  only  character  I  knew  in  his  repertoire,  and 
was  amused  when  I  answered  that  I  would  rather 
not  play  second  fiddle,  even  to  him.  His  friend- 
ship from  that  time  proved  itself  in  numberless 
acts  of  kindness  and  invaluable  advice  when  most 
needed.  My  thankfulness  to  him  can  best  be  un- 
derstood by  those  who,  while  struggling  to  make 
4 


5©  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

a  career,  would  have  fallen  by  the  way  but  for  the 
helping  hand  of  one  who  had  trodden  the  same 
difficult  path  successfully.  His  nature  was  an  ex- 
ceptionally unselfish  and  loyal  one,  his  generosity 
proverbial,  and  his  cheeriness  and  amiability  won 
for  him  the  name  of  "  Genial  John."  When  he 
had  gone,  my  solitary  study  began  again.  How 
painfully  dull  this  was  after  a  peep  into  the  active 
side  of  an  artist's  life !  My  existence  was  almost 
that  of  a  hermit.  I  saw  but  my  own  people,  and 
only  during  meal -time.     However,  as  Tennyson 

says, 

"  More  things  are  wrought  by  prayer 
Than  this  world  dreams  of;" 

and  prayer,  aside  from  giving  me  my  wish  after- 
wards, kept  me  from  despairing  then. 

One  morning,  on  returning  from  the  old  cathe- 
dral after  my  daily  visit,  I  met  Dr.  Griffin  in  front 
of  the  manager's  house.  Neither  of  us  had  seen 
Mr.  Macauley  since  our  introduction  to  him  some 
months  before.  "  Let  us  call  and  ask  if  he  can 
give  me  a  start,"  said  I ;  "  something  tells  me 
there  may  be  an  opportunity  for  a  first  appear- 
ance." He  acceded.  Mr.  Macauley  received  us 
cordially,  and  seemed  pleased  and  relieved  when 
Dr.  Griffin  proposed  his  giving  me  a  trial  at  his 


A  SUDDEN  OFFER  TO  ACT  51 

theatre.  "Why,"  said  he,  "this  is  luck!  You 
have  come  to  help  me  out  of  a  difficulty.  The 
star  I  have  this  week  is  playing  to  such  poor 
'business'  that  unless  he  gets  one  good  house 
before  the  week  is  out  he  may  be  unable  to  leave 
the  town.  To-day  is  Thursday ;  now,  if  you  could 
act  something  on  the  night  after  to-morrow !  Of 
course  I  will  pay  you  nothing.  I  will  only  give 
you  the  theatre,  actors,  music,  etc.,  gratis.  I  am 
certain  that  in  my  way  of  advertising  I  could 
crowd  the  house  for  that  night.  I  will  furnish 
you  with  appropriate  costumes;  but  I  fear  it  is 
very  short  notice.  Could  you  act  on  Saturday 
night  ?" 

Could  I  ?  Here  was  my  tide,  and,  with  my 
mother's  consent,  I  meant  to  take  it  at  the  flood ! 
That  had  to  be  gained  before  an  answer  could  be 
given.  Leaving  Dr.  Griffin  to  talk  over  the  re- 
hearsal, etc.,  I  ran  through  the  streets,  and  reached 
home  panting  for  breath.  Though  startled  at  the 
suddenness  of  the  offer,  my  mother  gave  her  full 
permission.  So  it  was  all  arranged  in  a  wonder- 
ful way !  That  Thursday  was  one  of  the  happiest 
days  of  my  life,  filled  as  it  was  with  brightest 
hope  and  anticipation.  Only  one  black  cloud 
hung  over  it :  the  thought  of  Nonie  and  my  grand- 


52  A   FEW  MEMORIES 

parents,  who  were  all  very  dear  to  me.  Had  I 
known  then  that  I  would  never  again  see  the 
face  of  the  former — that  he  would  die,  my  mother 
and  I  far  away  from  him,  and  that  almost  until 
his  death  he  would  refuse  to  forgive  or  see  me 
unless  I  abandoned  the  stage  life  which  he  thought 
so  injurious,  nay,  sinful — I  would  even  then  have 
renounced  what  was  within  my  grasp.  This  es- 
trangement saddened  many  years  of  my  life,  and 
has  cast  a  shadow  over  all  the  otherwise  bright 
and  happy  memories  of  him  who  was  the  father, 
friend,  and  playmate  of  our  childhood's  days. 

A  rehearsal — the  only  one — was  called  for  the 
next  morning.  On  my  way  to  the  cathedral  I 
was  enchanted  to  see  posters  on  the  fences  with 
the  following  announcement : 


THURSDAY,  NOVEMBER  25,  1875. 

AMUSEMENTS. 

MACAULEY'S  THEATER. 
Remember  Thanksgiving  Day  Matinee. 

See  THE  SPY. 

Thursday  Matinee  and  Evening, 

The  Most  Successful  Centennial  Historic  Drama,  received 
with  marked  favor,  and 

Mr.  MILNES   LEVICK, 
Accredited  with  the  Greatest  Applause. 

HARVEY  BIRCH,  "The  Spy!" 

With  Mr.  Levick  in  the  title  role,  supported  by  a  cast  of 
most  unusual  excellence. 

Thursday  (Thanksgiving  Day)  Matin£e  and  Evening, 

The  Spy.    Friday  Evening  and  Saturday 

Matin£e,  The  Spy. 


Saturday  Evening— Miss  MARY  ANDERSON,  a  young  lady  of 
this  city,  will  make  her  first  appearance  on  any  stage  as 
Juliet  in  Shakespeare's  Romeo  and  Juliet;  MlLNES  Levick 
as  Mercutio,  and  a  powerful  cast  of  characters. 


Next  Week.— OLIVE  LOGAN  in  original  comedies  of 
rare  merit. 


54  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

As  I  was  in  the  quiet  church  the  hour  for  re- 
hearsal struck,  and  I  started  for  the  theatre  in  a 
radiant  frame  of  mind.  Passing  with  my  people 
through  the  darkened  house  and  private  boxes  cov- 
ered with  their  linen  dusters,  I  found  myself  for 
the  first  time  upon  the  stage.  How  strange  and 
dream-like  it  seemed,  that  empty  theatre,  lighted 
only  here  and  there  by  the  faint  glimmer  of  the 
gray  day  without,  bereft  of  all  the  eager  faces  it 
had  always  been  peopled  with  !  And  the  stage  ! 
How  dismal  it  was  with  the  noisy  patter  of  the 
rain  on  its  tin  roof,  a  small  gas-jet  burning  in  the 
centre,  throwing  a  dingy  light  on  the  men  and 
women  (they  did  not  relish  the  extra  rehearsal) 
gloomily  standing  in  the  wings!  Could  they  be 
the  brilliant,  sparkling  courtiers  I  had  seen  but  a 
few  nights  before  blazing  in  jewels  and  wreathed 
in  smiles  ?  On  seeing  me,  all  looked  surprised. 
Some  made  remarks  in  whispers,  which  I  felt  to 
be  unkind ;  others  laughed  audibly.  Scarcely  six- 
teen, my  hair  in  a  long  braid,  my  frock  reaching 
to  my  boot-tops,  tall,  shy,  and  awkward,  I  may 
have  given  them  cause  for  merriment ;  but  it  was 
as  cruel,  I  thought,  as  underbred,  to  make  no  ef- 
fort to  conceal  their  mirth  at  my  expense.  How- 
ever, their  rudeness  was  salutary  in  its  effect,  put- 


RUDENESS  DISPLAYED  AT  REHEARSAL  55 

ting  me  on  my  mettle  before  the  work  began. 
The  stage-manager  clapped  his  hands  for  Act  I. 
The  actors  immediately  rattled  off  their  lines, 
making  crosses  and  sweeps  down  the  stage  quite 
different  from  the  business  I  had  arranged.  I 
was  bewildered,  and  asked  them  to  go  through  the 
play  as  they  proposed  doing  it  at  night,  and  to 
allow  me,  at  least  in  my  own  scenes,  to  follow  the 
only  "  business  "  I  knew.  "  Oh,  bother!"  said  one 
of  the  actors,  who  did  not  remark  the  tall  figure 
of  the  manager  at  the  back  of  the  dark  theatre, "  I 
acted  in  this  play  before  you  were  born,  and  I,  for 
one,  don't  mean  to  change  what  I  have  always 
done."  To  have  all  I  had  arranged  in  my  sanctum 
thus  upset  in  every  detail  threw  me  out  so  hope- 
lessly that  I  was  unable  to  go  on  with  the  rehears- 
al.' Mr.  Macauley's  voice  put  an  end  to  the  awk- 
ward pause,  saying  that  he  had  not  thought  it 
necessary  to  ask  them,  as  old  actors,  to  do  all  in 
their  power  to  aid  a  girl  who  was  then  standing 
on  the  stage  for  the  first  time ;  and  he  added, "  I 
must  request  now  that  you  follow  the  business  she 
knows,  and  that  you  try  to  be  obliging."  The 
sulkiness  that  followed  this  rebuke  was  damping, 
but  the  rehearsal  proceeded  more  smoothly. 

They   were,  with   three   exceptions,  the   most 


56  A   FEW    MEMORIES 

dogged,  coldly  uninterested  set  of  people  I  have 
ever  met,  sneering  at  my  every  movement  or 
suggestion.  It  was  a  relief  to  turn  from  them  to 
that  excellent  artist  and  true  gentleman,  Milnes 
Levick,  and  to  watch  the  earnest  care  with  which 
he  rehearsed  every  line.  Most  play-goers  in 
America  know  how  full  of  charm  and  originality 
is  his  reading  of  this  difficult  character.  His 
interest  in  my  work,  and  his  almost  fatherly  kind- 
ness, I  shall  never  forget.  From  that  day  we  be- 
came friends,  and  he  has  no  warmer  admirer  of 
his  sterling  qualities  as  man  and  actor  than  the 
unknown  Juliet  of  that  November  morning.  At 
last  the  rehearsal,  so  full  of  torture  and  disap- 
pointment to  me,  came  to  an  end.  With  one 
blow  all  my  beautiful  ideals  had  been  dashed  to 
the  ground.  It  was  a  rude  awakening  from  a 
long  dream,  and  my  heart  was  sore  and  heavy  as 
I  trudged  home  through  the  rain,  longing  to  hide 
myself  in  the  friendly  den,  and  find  relief  in  tears. 
There  had  been  so  many  humiliations,  such 
cold,  cruel  treatment  from  nearly  all  the  actors, 
that  I  dreaded  the  coming  of  Saturday,  when  I 
should  have  to  encounter  their  sneering  faces 
again.  Still,  it  did  come,  and  my  mother  and  I 
found  ourselves  walking   to   the   theatre   in   the 


FIRST-NIGHT  ANXIETIES  57 

crisp  air  of  a  starry  winter  night.  After  the  sad 
experience  of  the  day  before,  I  was  hardly  hopeful 
enough  to  be  nervous. 

The  borrowed  robes  were  quickly  donned. 
They  fitted  well,  with  the  exception  of  the  white 
satin  train  (the  first  I  had  ever  worn),  which 
threatened  every  moment  to  upset  me.  The  art 
of  make-up  was  unknown  to  me,  and  ornaments  I 
had  none.  When  Juliet  was  called  to  await  her 
cue,  what  a  transformation  in  the  scene !  The 
actors,  in  velvets  and  brocades,  were  gay  and 
excited,  some  of  them  even  deigned  to  give  me 
a  condescending  nod,  while  the  gloomy  stage  of 
the  day  before  was  flooded  with  light,  life,  and 
animation.  I  became  feverishly  anxious  to  begin. 
It  was  hard  to  stand  still  while  waiting  for  the 
word.  At  last  it  came :  "  What,  ladybird !  God 
forbid!  where's  this  girl?  what,  Juliet!"  and  in  a 
flash  I  was  on  the  stage,  conscious  only  of  a  wall 
of  yellow  light  before  me,  and  a  burst  of  pro- 
longed applause.  Curiosity  had  crowded  the 
house.  "  Why,  it's  little  Mamie  Anderson.  How 
strange !  it's  only  a  few  months  ago  since  I  saw 
her  rolling  a  hoop !"  etc.,  were  some  of  the  many 
remarks  which,  I  was  afterwards  told,  ran  through 
the  audience. 


58  A  FEW    MEMORIES 

The  early,  lighter  scenes,  being  uncongenial,  I 
hurried  through  as  quickly  as  possible.  Even 
these  were  well  received  by  the  indulgent  audi- 
ence. But  there  was  enthusiasm  in  the  house 
when  the  tragic  parts  were  reached.  Flowers 
and  recalls  were  the  order  of  the  evening.  While 
things  were  so  smiling  before,  they  were  less 
satisfactory  behind,  the  curtain.  The  artist  who 
had  acted  in  the  play  before  my  birth  forgot  his 
words,  and  I  had  to  prompt  him  in  two  impor- 
tant scenes.  In  the  last  act  the  lamp  that  hangs 
above  Juliet,  as  she  lies  in  the  tomb,  fell,  and 
burned  my  hands  and  dress  badly,  and,  to  make 
matters  worse,  Romeo  forgot  the  dagger  with 
which  Juliet  was  to  kill  herself,  and  that  unfort- 
unate young  person  had,  in  desperation,  to  de- 
spatch herself  with  a  hair-pin.  But  in  spite  of 
much  disillusion,  a  burned  hand  and  arm,  and 
several  other  accidents,  the  night  was  full  of 
success,  and  I  knew  that  my  stage  career  had 
begun  in  earnest. 


CHAPTER  V 

In  our  home  we  never  read  newspaper  criti- 
cisms on  acting,  music,  or  literature,  preferring  to 
determine  for  ourselves  what  we  thought  good  or 
bad  in  each.  We  did  not,  therefore,  think  of  the 
press  in  connection  with  my  work,  and  we  were 
surprised  the  following  morning  to  find  that  the 
performance  had  been  mentioned  at  length,  and 
in  a  flattering  way,  by  the  Louisville  papers.  I 
give  the  least  favorable  notices : 

"  Miss  Anderson's  debut  last  night  was  a  decided 
success.  Of  course,  her  rendition  of  a  character 
like  Juliet,  in  which  so  many  famous  actresses 
have  won  distinction,  was  open  to  criticism.  Its 
value,  however,  to  correct  criticism  was  an  indica- 
tion of  her  powers.  We  are  sure  that  last  night 
saw  the  beginning  of  a  career  which,  in  its  prog- 
ress, will  shed  radiance  on  the  American  stage." 
— The  Commercial  (Editorial),  November  28,  1S75. 

"  The  Debut  of  Miss  Anderson  Last  Night. 


Co  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

— In  noticing  the  debut  of  Miss  Anderson  at 
Macauley's  last  night,  before  proceeding  to  the 
necessary  task  of  criticism,  we  chronicle  with  great 
pleasure  the  fact  that  she  achieved  a  very  decided 
success.  The  house  was  rilled  with  such  an  audi- 
ence as  only  the  most  favored  stars  can  bring  out 
on  Saturday  night,  and  it  showed  a  warmth  of 
appreciation  and  made  such  demonstrations  of 
enthusiasm  as  Louisville  audiences  rarely  indulge 
in.  Miss  Anderson  was  called  before  the  curtain 
after  every  act.  Considering  that  she  is  just  six- 
teen years  of  age,  and  has  never  been  upon  the 
stage  of  a  theatre  before  her  first  rehearsal  upon 
Friday,  her  achievement  last  night  may  be  fairly 
classed  as  remarkable.  We  have  too  high  an 
opinion  of  her  abilities  and  of  her  good  sense  to 
think  that  she  desires  indiscriminate  praise  in  a 
notice  of  her  first  performance. 

"  She  attempted  a  very  difficult  and  no  less  re- 
markable task  last  evening  in  coming  before  the 
public  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  in  the  char- 
acter of  Juliet.  But  when  we  come  to  consider 
all  the  bearings  that  surround  a  first  appearance, 
the  manner  in  which  she  acquitted  herself  must 
have  been  very  gratifying  to  her  friends  and  very 
encouraging  to  her  hopes.     It  was  brave  in  Miss 


LOCAL   PRESS  COMMENDATION   IS   NOT   FAME       61 

Anderson  to  attempt  Juliet,  but  in  doing  so  we 
think  she  overestimated  her  strength.  In  a  less 
exacting  character  she  would  have  encountered 
fewer  obstacles,  and  her  audience  would  not  have 
expected  so  much  from  her.  Miss  Anderson  dem- 
onstrated her  possession  of  very  decided  talents, 
which,  if  properly  cultivated,  will  fit  her  to  shine 
in  the  highest  ranks  of  the  dramatic  profession, 
and  her  performance  last  night  shows  her  pos- 
sessed of  nerve  and  energy.  With  these,  success 
can  be  obtained  upon  the  stage,  and  if  Miss  An- 
derson adopts  the  profession  we  shall  look  to  see 
her  make  her  mark  in  it,  believing  her  possessed 
of  too  good  common -sense  to  let  ambition  run 
away  with  her  judgment,  and  at  the  same  time 
animated  with  an  energy  that  will  carve  her  way 
to  the  highest  point." — The  Commercial  (Dramatic 
Criticism),  November  28,  1875. 

Those  who  have  been  in  print  when  young 
naturally  remember  the  feeling  of  importance  they 
experienced  on  first  seeing  their  names  in  a  public 
journal.  I  was  but  sixteen,  and  it  seemed  to  me 
that  a  name  so  prominently  put  before  the  world 
in  the  Louisville  press  would  be  immediately 
famous  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 


62  A    FEW    MEMORIES 

land.  Fortunately,  I  soon  discovered  that  such 
was  not  the  case ;  for  though  the  performance 
created  some  discussion  for  several  weeks,  it  was 
apparently  forgotten  both  by  manager  and  public 
in  a  very  short  time. 

After  a  plunge  into  the  sea  of  public  life,  it  was 
heartbreaking  to  be  thrown  back  again  upon  the 
dry  land  of  study  without  practice,  hope  without 
realization.  The  interval  of  three  months  with 
no  engagement  in  sight  was  not  spent,  however, 
in  idle  moping.  The  part  of  Bianca,  in  Dean  Mil- 
man's  "  Fazio,"  was  thoroughly  prepared.  At  the 
end  of  that  time  Mr.  Macauley  offered  me  a  week 
at  his  theatre,  which  was  accepted  with  joy. 

The  repertoire  selected  was  as  follows : 

Bianca    in  "  Fazio  "  for  Monday. 


Julia 

Evadne 

Pauline 


in      "  The  Hunchback  "      for  Tuesday, 
in  Lalor  Shiel's  "Evadne"  for  Wednesday, 
in        "  Lady  of  Lyons  "        for  Thursday. 


Juliet     in     "  Romeo  and  Juliet "     for  Friday  and  Saturday. 

At  the  end  of  the  engagement  I  was  in  debt 
to  the  manager  for  the  sum  of  one  dollar,  the 
houses  having  been  large  enough  only  to  cover 
the  running  expenses.  All  I  had  gained  by  a 
week  of  hard  work  was  a  sad  heart  and  a  very 


A  MEAGRE  WARDROBE  63 

sore  throat.  Besides,  creditors  became  unpleas- 
antly importunate,  for  my  scanty  wardrobe  was 
not  yet  paid  for.  This  consisted  of  a  white  satin 
dress,  simply  made,  which  did  service  for  all  the 
parts.  It  sparkled  in  silver  trimming  for  Juliet, 
was  covered  with  pink  roses  for  Julia,  became  gay 
in  green  and  gold  for  Evadne,  and  cloudy  with 
white  lace  for  Pauline.  The  unfortunate  gown 
owed  its  many  changes  to  the  nimble  and  willing 
fingers  of  my  mother,  who  spent  much  time  each 
day  in  its  metamorphoses.  A  train  of  velveteen, 
a  white  muslin  dress,  and  a  modern  black  silk 
gown  (which,  like  Mrs.  Toodles,  we  thought 
"  would  be  so  useful,"  but  which  had  to  be  dis- 
carded after  its  first  appearance)  completed  my 
wardrobe — surely  a  meagre  one  for  five  plays  of 
five  acts  each,  requiring  at  least  twelve  gowns. 
We  had  built  up  financial  as  well  as  artistic  hopes 
for  that  week,  and  were  disappointed  in  both. 
But  it  proved  more  successful  than  was  at  first 
thought,  for,  shortly  after,  Ben  De  Bar  (one  of  the 
greatest  Falstaffs  of  his  time)  engaged  me  for 
six  nights  at  his  St.  Louis  theatre.  At  the  end 
of  that  time  I  found  myself  in  his  debt  for  the 
sum  of  six  hundred  dollars;  but  the  houses  had 
steadily  improved,  and  the  press  was  filled   with 


64  A    FEW    MEMORIES 

long  articles,  enthusiastic  about  the  present  and 
full  of  predictions  for  the  future. 

After  seeing  Evadne,  Mr.  De  Bar  engaged  me 
for  the  following  week  to  close  that  historic  old 
theatre,  the  St.  Charles,  at  New  Orleans,  before 
it  was  converted  into  a  music-hall  or  variety  thea- 
tre. After  travelling  from  Saturday  until  Monday 
there  was  only  time  for  one  hurried  rehearsal  for 
that  night's  performance.  The  company,  like  the 
one  at  St.  Louis,  was  composed  of  a  most  helpful 
and  kindly  set  of  men  and  women,  who  found  no 
trouble  too  great  to  make  the  plays  successful. 
But  our  hearts  sank  very  low  on  learning  that  not 
one  seat  had  been  sold  for  the  entire  week.  The 
outlook  was  hopeless,  and  horrible  visions  of  fail- 
ure and  new  debts  rose  up  before  me.  I  could  not 
but  be  amused,  however,  when  the  Irish  box-keeper 
said :  "  Och,  the  houly  saints  bliss  yer  yung  heart, 
not  a  sate  have  we  sauld  for  the  wake.     Oi  asked 

Missus  Mc if  she  wud  give  me  the  plisure  of 

sinding  her  a  few  tickets  for  the  wake.  Ye  see, 
she's  the  mither  of  a  large  family,  and  Oi  thought 
they  wud  help  to  fill  up  a  bit.  '  Well,'  sez  she, 
condiscendin'-loike, 'if  it  wud  obloige  ye,  sur,  I 
moight  take  a  few.'  '  Divil  a  bit,'  sez  I,  with  me 
temper  up, '  if  it's  only  to  obloige  me,  not  a  sate  do 


DR.  GRIFFIN'S   RUSE  65 

yus  get  with  thim  foine  airs.  Maybe  before  the 
wake's  out  yees  'ill  be  beggin'  thim  of  me.' "  This, 
it  seems,  she  did,  and  in  vain,  for  his  heart  was  like 
flint  against  deadheads  when  success  smiled  upon 
him. 

Dr.  Griffin,  quite  unknown  to  us,  realizing  the 
disaster  of  closing  the  theatre  on  a  first  night  for 
lack  of  an  audience,  gave  the  head  of  one  of  the 
medical  colleges,  an  acquaintance  of  his,  a  ticket 
of  admission  for  each  of  the  students,  also  invit- 
ing a  number  of  his  army  friends.  When  the  cur- 
tain rose,  to  my  surprise  the  house  was  well  filled, 
though  in  actual  money,  I  afterwards  learned,  it 
contained  but  forty  dollars.  Two  of  my  child- 
hood's favorites,  General  and  Mrs.  Tom  Thumb, 
sat  in  a  box  clapping  their  tiny  hands  vigorously.* 
After  the  first  night  the  houses  steadily  increased, 
and  on  the  last  nights  were  crowded.  So  success- 
ful in  every  way  was  the  engagement  that  Mrs. 
Chanfrau  offered  me  the  next  week  at  her  theatre, 
the  leading  one  of  New  Orleans,  only  stipulating 
that  Meg  Merrilies  should  be  studied  and  acted 
on  my  benefit  night.     The  opportunity  of  imper- 

*  The  charming  wee  General  afterwards  came  to  pay  mc  a  formal  call. 
On  entering  the  drawing-room  I  found  him  standing  on  a  chair,  so  as  to  be 
able  to  see  out  of  the  window. 

5 


66  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

sonating  the  withered  gypsy  was  a  lucky  one,  for 
many  attributed  my  success  to  "  youth,  etc." 

After  bidding  farewell  to  the  St.  Charles,  whose 
stage  had  witnessed  the  triumphs  of  Rachel,  the 
elder  Booth,  Julia  Dean,  Forrest,  and  Cushman, 
I  began  my  fourth  week  of  public  life  before  a 
large  house  at  The  Varieties.  I  remember  that 
engagement  as  one  of  the  pleasantest  of  my 
life.  The  manageress,  Mrs.  Chanfrau,  the  hand- 
some wife  of  "Kit,  the  Arkansas  Traveller"  (by- 
the-way,  why  do  not  women  more  generally  man- 
age theatres  ?)  made  it  one  of  the  freshest,  clean- 
est, and  most  comfortable  places  imaginable.  She 
kept  it  as  a  good  housewife  keeps  her  home — im- 
maculate. Welcoming  all  pleasantly,  she  seemed 
more  like  a  charming  hostess  to  those  who  acted 
under  her  than  like  the  usual  business  manager. 
The  week  passed  off  very  successfully.  On  Fri- 
day I  donned  the  witch's  rags  for  the  first  time. 
All  my  teeth  were  covered  with  black  wax,  except 
one,  which  in  its  natural  whiteness  produced  a 
tusk -like  effect.  The  hair  concealed  by  gray, 
snaky  locks,  the  complexion  hidden  beneath  the 
wrinkles  and  brown,  parchment -like  skin  of  the 
weather-stained  gypsy,  the  eyebrows  covered  with 
shaggy  gray  hair,  the  figure  bent  nearly  double, 


SUCCESS  IN  NEW  ORLEANS  67 

made  the  illusion  so  perfect  that  my  mother  could 
not  recognize  one  feature  or  movement.  The 
character  had  been  studied  at  a  few  days'  notice, 
and  the  astonishment  of  all,  including  myself,  was 
great  when  it  was  received  more  warmly  than  any- 
thing I  had  attempted.  After  much  enthusiasm 
from  the  crowded  audience,  speeches  and  presen- 
tations were  made :  checks  concealed  in  baskets 
of  flowers  were  handed  over  the  foot-lights,  and, 
among  other  gifts,  the  greatly  prized  "Washington 
Artillery"  badge,  which  made  me  an  honorary 
member  of  that  battalion,  was  presented.  Miss 
Mildred  Lee  *  and  I  were  the  only  lady  members, 
an  honor  of  which  we  were  justly  proud;  for  the 
splendid  bravery  of  that  body  of  men  during  the 
war  had  won  for  them  the  title  of  "  The  Tigers." 

My  unexpected  success  in  New  Orleans,  a  suc- 
cess of  which  any  veteran  actor  might  have  been 
proud,  was  almost  stupefying,  coming  as  I  did  so 
suddenly  from  obscurity  into  the  dazzling  light  of 
public  favor.  Nothing  was  left  undone  to  make 
our  visit  delightful  in  every  way.  The  railway 
company's  parting  compliment  was  to  place  at 
our  disposal  a  special  car  to   Louisville,  and  all 

*A  daughter  of  General  Robert  E.  Lcc. 


68  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

along  the  journey  we  had  proofs  of  their  constant 
thoughtfulness.  After  arriving  an  utter  stranger, 
it  seemed  remarkable  to  be  leaving  the  beautiful 
Crescent  City  two  weeks  later  loaded  with  so 
many  favors  and  marks  of  its  friendship.  My 
bright  dreams  were  first  realized  there,  and  I 
shall  always  remember  New  Orleans  with  affec- 
tionate gratitude. 

Our  first  act  on  returning  was  to  pay  off  all  our 
creditors.  The  satisfaction  of  doing  this  with 
one's  own  earnings  must  be  felt  to  be  under- 
stood. Towards  the  end  of  the  summer,  a  week's 
engagement  at  Owensboro,  a  small,  pretty  town 
near  Louisville,  was  offered  me.  The  disadvan- 
tages of  acting  with  a  group  of  country  players, 
we  were  told,  would  be  many :  the  "  juvenile  lead- 
ing man"  of  the  company  was  a  rather  elderly 
woman ;  the  scenery,  to  say  the  least,  not  of  the 
best,  and  the  discomforts  and  inconveniences  were 
sure  to  be  legion.  Still,  every  performance  was  a 
gain  in  experience  and  ease,  and  a  fever  for  im- 
provement at  any  cost,  as  well  as  the  anticipation 
of  some  primitive  "barn-storming,"  induced  me  to 
accept  the  offer.  I  was  a  tall,  slender  Juliet,  and 
my  Romeo  proved  to  be  a  plump,  pleasant  little 
woman,  probably  the  mother  of  several  would-be 


A  WEEK  OF  "BARN-STORMING"  69 

Romeos  and  Juliets.  The  moon  she  (Romeo) 
swore  by  we  found  to  be  the  head-light  of  a  rail- 
way engine  hired  for  the  occasion.  This  was  held 
by  a  small  negro  boy  perched  upon  a  ladder,  who 
was  so  amused  by  the  play  that  he  laughed  until 
he  shook  over  the  most  tragic  scenes.  His  mirth, 
as  may  be  imagined,  was  not  conducive  to  fair 
Luna's  steadiness.  At  one  time  she  was  shining 
in  an  upper  box,  at  another  on  the  head  of  a  bald 
musician,  often  blinding  the  unfortunates  in  the 
front  stalls,  here,  there,  everywhere  but  on  the 
face  of  her  ("Verona's  lovely  flower")  she  had 
been  especially  hired  to  illuminate.  The  con- 
ductor of  the  orchestra  was  a  carpenter  by  trade, 
and  sawed  away  as  lustily  during  the  day  at  the 
boards  he  was  converting  into  profile  statues  of 
Evadne's  noble  ancestors  as  he  sawed  upon  his 
violin  at  night.  These  statues,  I  may  remark, 
bore  a  striking  resemblance,  when  finished,  to 
the  little  men  and  women  which  cooks  cut  out  of 
dough  and  "  fry  and  sugar  "  for  favored  children. 
The  week  was  very  successful  artistically,  for  the 
performances  (how  bad  they  were  I  am  ashamed 
to  remember)  met  with  the  approval  of  "  the  most 
discriminating  audience  in  the  States."  This 
standard  of  critical  excellence   I   found  later  to 


70  A  FEW    MEMORIES 

be  of  home  manufacture,  and  common  to  every 
small  town  we  appeared  in.  Until  one  learned 
that  its  meaning  was  not  as  awe-inspiring  as  it 
sounded,  it  hung  like  the  sword  of  Damocles 
over  the  heads  of  all  young  artists  like  ourselves 
bent  on  "barn -storming."  Financially  the  visit 
was  also  successful,  for  the  theatre  was  packed, 
gangways  included,  at  each  performance.  A  year 
later  we  returned  to  the  same  town  with  a  com- 
pany organized  by  my  old  friend  Mr.  Thomas 
Hall.  He  had  arranged  for  a  short  tour  with 
several  utility  men  and  women,  the  leading  ju- 
venile comedian  of  the  Walnut  Street  Theatre, 
Philadelphia,  and  a  few  other  stray  actors  from 
the  same  city.  These  were  styled  on  the  bills 
"A  Company  of  Metropolitan  Artists? 

We  played  to  such  full  houses  at  Owensboro 
that  it  was  decided  to  give  a  morning  performance, 
and  a  "  grand  matinee "  at  two  o'clock  was  ac- 
cordingly announced.  Why  a  matinee  should  be 
invariably  called  "  grand  "  on  the  bills  has  always 
puzzled  me.  "  The  Lady  of  Lyons "  was  the 
play.  When  I  arrived  to  dress  for  Pauline  not 
a  creature  had  appeared  in  the  auditorium.  It 
was  already  half-past  one.  The  experienced  old 
stage-manager's  advice  not  to  dress  for  the  play 


AN   EMPTY   HOUSE  71 

yet  was  received  with  indignation.  At  a  quarter 
to  two  only  rows  of  empty  benches  were  to  be 
seen  on  peeping  through  the  curtain.  "  Doubt- 
less," said  I,  with  a  sinking  heart,  "  it  will  be  a 
fashionably  late  audience  when  it  does  arrive." 
At  two  o'clock  emptiness  and  stillness  in  front, 
dismay  and  silence  behind  the  curtain.  At  a 
quarter-past,  two  ladies  arrived.  At  half-past  they 
were  still  the  only  audience,  and  the  stage-man- 
ager went  before  the  curtain  to  announce  to  them 
that  the  hall  was  not  deemed  sufficiently  full  to 
warrant  a  performance,  whereupon  the  audience 
left  quite  contentedly.  The  walk  back  to  our 
hotel  was  painfully  humiliating.  We  fancied  our- 
selves the  laughing-stock  of  all  Owensboro.  The 
disgrace,  however,  was  not  as  great  as  we  thought, 
for  at  night  the  house  was  crowded,  and  we  then 
learned  that  the  empty  theatre  of  the  afternoon 
was  only  due  to  the  fact  that  a  morning  perform- 
ance had  never  before  been  given  in  the  town. 
During  that  time  many  of  our  journeys  were 
made  on  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi  steamboats. 
These  were  not  always  remarkable  for  their  com- 
fort, though  bright  and  pretty  enough  to  look  at. 
I  remember  once  on  our  way  to  Cairo  (the  Eden 
of    Dickens)  awaking  after  a  night  spent  in  an 


72  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

upper  berth  in  what  seemed  a  cold  bath.  The 
bedding  was  soaked  through  by  the  rain  which 
had  come  through  the  roof  of  the  "  floating  pal- 
ace." The  result  was  a  bad  cold  and  a  pair  of 
eyes  so  swollen  that  they  were  hardly  visible. 
The  play  that  night  was  "  The  Lady  of  Lyons." 
When  as  Pauline  I  reproved  Claude  for  his  down- 
cast, smileless  looks,  and  he  tenderly  answered, 
"  Thine  eyes  would  call  up  smiles  in  deserts,  fair 
one,"  I  trembled  lest  his  speech  would  call  up 
smiles  in  the  audience  and  ruin  our  sentimental 
scene.  But  they  had  never  seen  me  before,  and 
doubtless  looked  upon  the  tiny  "  slits "  that  did 
service  to  Pauline  for  eyes  that  night  as  a  natural 
and  enduring  infirmity.  A  severe  cold  is  bad 
enough  even  in  a  warm  room,  with  every  comfort 
about  one,  but  to  face  an  expectant  audience  in 
an  icy  theatre  on  a  wet  night,  to  paint  one's  face 
and  appear  gay  and  happy  while  coughing  and 
sneezing  violently,  is  a  form  of  absolute  torture. 
It  was  still  pouring  with  rain  when  the  perform- 
ance was  over.  The  night  was  as  dark  as  Erebus. 
To  make  matters  worse,  we  discovered  that  the 
few  "hacks"  (vehicles)  in  the  town  had  already 
been  engaged  to  take  the  Cairo  aristocracy  to 
their  respective  homes  after  the  play.     There  was 


DISCOMFORTS  OF  A   RIVER   TOWN  73 

nothing  to  be  done  but  to  engage  a  boy  with  a 
lantern  and  walk  to  our  boat,  awaiting  us  on  the 
Mississippi.  The  Deschapelles,  Glavis,  Beauseant, 
Pauline,  and  Claude  wearily  wended  their  way 
through  the  rain  and  mud.  My  good  friend,  Lin 
Harris,  a  member  of  the  company,  took  off  his 
overshoes,  and,  tearing  his  handkerchief,  tied  them 
to  my  feet.  Kind  thoughts,  kind  words,  kind 
deeds,  how  brightly  they  always  shine  in  our  mem- 
ories !  After  leaving  the  desolate  streets  we  came 
to  the  long  wharf,  where  the  mud  was  ankle  deep, 
and  where  we  continually  expected  to  be  set  upon 
by  longshoremen.  It  was  very  late  before  we  saw 
the  lights  of  our  floating  house  twinkling  in  the 
distance.  But  every  black  cloud  has  a  silver 
lining,  and  ours  shone  on  the  table  that  night  in 
the  shape  of  an  excellent  supper  which  the  kind 
captain  had  prepared  for  us.  It  was  during  that 
engagement  that  I  acted  before  the  inmates  of  a 
blind  asylum.  They  were  close  to  the  stage,  and 
so  aroused  one's  sympathies  that  it  was  difficult 
to  go  on  with  the  play.  The  sad,  patient  faces, 
with  their  closed  eyes  turned  towards  the  actors, 
were  always  expressionless,  whether  pathos  or  joy 
was  acted  before  them.  Quite  different  they  were 
from  a  deaf-and-dumb  audience  I  played  to  later. 


74  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

These  poor  afflicted  people  were  uncommonly  re- 
sponsive to  every  passion  portrayed,  unconsciously 
proving  the  theory  that  one  is  more  quickly  and 
strongly  affected  through  the  eye  than  by  the  ear. 

Segnais  irritant  animos  demissa  per  aures 
Quam  quae  sunt  oculis  summissa  fidelibus. 

— Horace  (Ars  Poetica). 

My  appearance  in  San  Francisco  at  Mr.  John 
McCullough's  theatre  soon  followed,  and  was  the 
most  unhappy  part  of  my  professional  life.  With 
but  few  exceptions,  the  members  of  the  numerous 
company  continually  ridiculed  my  work.  My  poor 
wardrobe  was  a  subject  of  special  sport  to  the 
gorgeously  dressed  women,  and  unkind  remarks 
about  "the  interloper"  were  heard  on  every  side. 
The  press  cut  me  up,  or,  rather,  tried  to  cut  me 
down,  advising  me  to  leave  the  stage.  Continual 
taunts  from  actors  and  journalists  nearly  broke 
my  spirit.  I  slept  but  little,  and  then  only  tow- 
ards morning,  from  the  exhaustion  of  weeping 
all  the  night.  There  was  no  one  with  whom  I 
could  share  these  sufferings,  for  pride  kept  me 
from  hinting  my  real  state  of  mind  by  word  or 
look,  even  to  my  mother.  The  effort  to  smile 
and  seem  hopeful  before  others  was  as  wearying 


EDWIN  BOOTH'S  ENCOURAGEMENT  75 

as  the  giving  vent  to  sorrow  and  humiliation  when 
alone.  The  engagement,  with  the  exception  of 
the  last  two  nights,  had  come  to  an  end,  when 
Meg  Merrilies  was  given  and  received  with  gen- 
uine enthusiasm  by  actors  and  public.  But  this 
success  came  too  late.  Only  one  night  remained, 
and  I  could  not  hope  to  retrieve  for  Mr.  McCul- 
lough  all  I  had  lost  for  him.  For  the  last  per- 
formance I  played  Parthenia,  for  the  first  time, 
to  his  Ingomar.  This  was  also  highly  successful. 
Mr.  Edwin  Booth  was  in  San  Francisco  at  the 
time  arranging  for  his  appearance  there.  The 
one  bright  spot  in  that  unhappy  engagement  was 
meeting  him.  His  assurance  that  such  trials  as  I 
was  then  passing  through  were  beneficial  both  to 
character  and  art  gave  me  new  courage.  He 
laughed  at  my  idea  of  quitting  the  stage  on  ac- 
count of  the  unkindness  of  my  fellow- actors.  "  I 
also  am  a  fellow  -  actor,"  said  he ;  "  I  have  sat 
through  two  of  your  performances  from  beginning 
to  end — the  first  time  I  have  done  such  a  thing 
in  years — and  I  have  not  only  been  interested,  but 
impressed  and  delighted.  You  have  begun  well. 
Continue,  and  you  are  sure  of  success  in  the  end." 
The  effect  of  those  words  from  so  great  an  actor 
to  one  in  the  very  slough  of  despond  may  easily 


76  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

be  imagined.  For  years  they  were  as  a  beacon- 
light  in  every  hour  of  failure  and  discouragement. 
The  depressing  effects  of  the  California  engage- 
ment were  alleviated  in  a  measure  by  the  subse- 
quent success  that  crowned  all  my  efforts  in  the 
South  during  a  tour  under  the  management  of 
John  T.  Ford.  Savannah,  with  her  beautiful  Bo- 
naventura  Cemetery,  her  great  trees  cloudy  with 
silver  moss,  her  magnolias  and  orange  -  trees ; 
Charleston,  with  its  quaint  thoroughfares,  its  pict- 
uresque battery  and  characteristic  negro  oyster- 
women  decked  in  gay  bandannas ;  Augusta,  with 
its  wide  streets  and  double  avenues  of  fine  trees; 
Norfolk,  Baltimore,  Richmond,  Washington,  were 
all  visited  in  turn.  The  South  wins  one  not  only 
by  its  natural  beauty  and  proverbial  hospitality, 
but  by  a  nameless  and  romantic  sadness  which 
hangs  over  it  like  a  shadow  of  the  past.  The 
difference  between  the  North  and  the  South,  even 
to  a  casual  visitor,  is  extraordinary.  The  bustle, 
energy,  and  enterprise  of  the  former  make  the 
tranquillity  of  the  latter  appear  to  be  of  another 
country.  There  is  a  vigor  of  youth  in  the  North, 
while  the  South,  with  its  repose,  its  quaintness,  its 
conventionality  of  life,  suggests  a  history  older 
than  itself. 


GENERAL  GRANT  77 

At  Savannah  a  bevy  of  school-girls — forty  or 
fifty  in  number — swept  past  the  stage-door  keeper, 
and,  bursting  into  my  dressing-room,  insisted  that 
I  should  embrace  them  one  and  all.  The  request 
was  extremely  embarrassing.  I  made  a  rush  for 
the  door,  but  was  seized  upon  by  the  crowd,  and 
not  allowed  to  depart  until  I  had  kissed  them  all. 
This  feat  accomplished  with  a  very  ill  grace,  I  was 
permitted  to  quit  the  theatre.  Not  being  able 
to  find  a  carriage  in  which  to  escape,  my  mother 
and  I  were  followed  by  the  entire  school,  whose 
ranks  were  enlarged  on  the  way  by  stragglers  and 
passers-by  until,  reaching  our  hotel,  they  formed  a 
long  procession  behind  us.  My  cup  of  indignation 
overflowed  when  a  grinning  spectator  remarked 
as  we  passed,  "  My  stars !  what  a  long  tail  our 
cat's  got !" 

It  was  during  that  delightful  Southern  tour  that 
Dr.  Griffin  presented  me  to  General — then  Presi- 
dent— Grant,  whom  he  had  known  in  old  soldier- 
ing days,  when  the  General  had  captured  and  im- 
prisoned him.  It  was  pleasant  to  see  these  enemies 
in  war  so  friendly  in  time  of  peace.  Kindliness 
and  simplicity  were  marked  traits  of  the  President, 
while  a  certain  ruggedness  of  manner  and  speech 
that  was  suggestive  of  his  earlier  life  gave  an  ad- 


78  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

ditional  interest  to  all  he  said  and  did.  In  show- 
ing us  over  the  White  House  his  pleasure  in 
pointing  out  various  trophies  was  undisguised  and 
boyish.  While  lunching  with  him,  the  natural 
way  in  which  he  brought  himself  down  to  the 
level  of  my  youth  and  small  experience  of  life, 
without  a  touch  of  that  visible  condescension  so 
annoying  to  the  young,  was  charming.  I  resent- 
ed keenly  being  treated  like  a  child,  and  longed 
for  the  time  when  I  could  meet  the  older  people, 
with  whom  I  was  so  often  thrown,  on  a  more 
equal  footing.  I  detested  the  teens,  and  felt  that 
all  my  efforts  at  dignity  would  be  in  vain  until  at 
least  the  venerable  twenties  were  reached. 

General  Grant  had  a  remarkable  memory  for 
faces.  Some  years  after  I  was  met  at  the  door  of 
the  hotel  in  Washington  by  a  man  who  greeted 
me  in  a  cordial  manner.  Not  recognizing  him,  I 
told  him  that  he  must  have  made  a  mistake,  as  I 
had  never  seen  him  before.  "  So  you  forget  your 
early  friends  so  easily,  Miss  Mary  1"  he  answered ; 
"  I  am  General  Grant."  In  my  embarrassment  I 
could  only  excuse  myself  by  saying  that  my  mind 
was  still  on  the  rehearsal  I  had  just  left ;  that  he 
had  so  changed,  etc.  "  Yes,"  he  answered,  laugh- 
ingly, "  I  have  grown  thinner  and  paler ;  I  am  no 


GENERAL  SHERMAN  79 

longer  President,  you  see,  and  am  consequently 
less  banqueted." 

In  various  other  meetings  with  him  I  always 
found  the  great  soldier  modest,  simple,  and  unas- 
suming. It  was  about  this  time  that  my  friend- 
ship with  General  Sherman  also  began.  He  was 
one  of  the  few  eminent  men  I  have  met  whose 
interest  in  every  subject  of  conversation  was  so 
great  that  his  particular  metier  could  not  have 
been  guessed.  He  knew  much  about  the  stage, 
Shakespeare,  and  the  drama  generally,  and  was 
a  passionate  lover  of  the  arts,  thinking  them  all 
worthy  of  equal  regard.  As  a  critic  he  was  good, 
though  perhaps  too  enthusiastic  over  any  excel- 
lence, however  small,  if  genuine  enthusiasm  can 
be  called  a  fault.  His  manner  was  brisk  and 
hearty.  His  personality  gave  the  impression  of  a 
rugged  strength ;  so  much  so  that  his  entrance 
into  a  room  was  like  a  blast  of  fresh,  invigorat- 
ing air.  He  scorned  fear  and  discouragement 
of  every  kind,  and  refused  to  allow  any  one, 
while  in  his  presence,  to  give  way  to  either.  It 
was  easy  to  understand  his  influence  over  his 
soldiers  and  his  success  as  a  leader  of  men. 
Personally  I  owe  him  much.  Having  grown 
rapidly,  I  had   contracted   a   tendency  to   stoop, 


80  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

which  displeased  him  greatly.  He  was  himself 
tall  and  very  erect,  and  was  wont  to  say  that,  to 
him,  the  most  perfect  man  or  woman  was  marred 
by  the  slightest  stoop.  His  kindly  admonitions 
finally  broke  me  of  the  habit.  My  handwriting 
was  also  subject  to  his  criticisms.  It  amused  him 
to  make  me  write  out  my  signature  as  legibly 
as  possible,  and  then  decipher  it  for  him ;  for  he 
said  it  was  more  than  he  could  do.  I  give  a 
part  of  one  of  his  letters,  in  which  this  subject 
is  mentioned  for  the  first  time.  His  allusion 
to  the  name  of  Mary  is  retained,  as  it  may  be  of 
interest : 

"  Headquarters,  Army  of  the  United  States, 
"Washington,  D.  C,  1876. 

"  Dear  Miss  Mary, — What  a  debt  you  owe  to 
Providence  and  to  your  parents,  .  .  .  and  the 
latter  have  given  you  the  prettiest  name  in  the 
English  language:  the  one  Burns  loved  so  well, 
and  has  made  immortal.  .  .  . 

"  But  I  must  not  flatter  you,  for  I  fear  you 
are  overwhelmed  with  it,  and  might  be  spoiled, 
though  surely  you  possess  character  enough  to 
resist  the  danger.  The  great  room  for  improve- 
ment in  you  is  in  your  handwriting.  The  sub- 
stance   is    good,   but    the    writing    is    not    good 


MY  ILLEGIBLE  HANDWRITING  Si 

enough  for  you.  Practise  at  it  daily,  and  let  me 
have  a  sample  of  it  occasionally.  My  love  to 
your  Father,  Mother,  and  you. 

44  W.  T.  Sherman." 

My  unfortunate  handwriting  has  always  been 
a  subject  of  worry  to  my  friends.  Longfellow, 
in  acknowledging  a  letter  from  me,  called  it  "a 
small  Bible  with  large  but  illegible  print."  My 
first  note  to  Cardinal  Manning  caused  him  to 
call  to  his  aid  several  persons  to  try  and  make 
out  the  signature.  Failing  in  this,  and  finding, 
after  much  difficulty,  that  the  subject-matter  of 
the  letter  was  important,  he  sent  an  answer 

"To   THE   PERSON    LIVING  AT — " 

then  followed  the  address  printed  on  my  letter- 
head. I  did  not  wonder  at  this,  for  I  have 
often  found  it  difficult  to  read  my  own  writing, 
which  is  illegible  because  of  an  impatience  to 
put  down  quickly  what  I  want  to  say.  Mr. 
Thomas  Hall  once  brought  me  an  autograph  of 
Martha  Washington,  which  he  advised  me  to 
buy,  saying  it  was  rare  and  valuable.  I  agreed 
to  do  so,  whereupon  he  opened  the  paper,  turned 
down  above  the  signature,  and  I  read,  "  For  two 


82  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

seats  gallery."  Not  until  then  did  I  recognize 
my  own  signature  on  a  theatre  pass,  probably 
given  to  a  servant  a  year  before. 

I  doubt  if  Lady  Macbeth  or  Galatea  would 
ever  have  been  added  to  my  repertoire  but  for 
General  Sherman's  constantly  expressed  wish 
that  I  should  study  and  enact  both  characters. 
His  kindness  to  any  one  at  the  foot  of  the  great 
hill  of  fame  was  proverbial  and  universal.  He 
never  forgot  his  own  difficulties  in  mounting  it, 
and  always  stood  ready  to  lend  a  helping  hand  to 
those  struggling  to  reach  its  summit. 

It  is  impossible  to  determine  the  effect  of  a 
play  or  character  either  upon  the  public  or  one's 
self  until  it  is  essayed.  A  well-known  fact  it  is 
that  a  play  which  reads  well  frequently  fails 
when  acted,  and  vice  versa.  Disliking  Galatea, 
and  thinking  the  character  unsuited  to  me,  I  ex- 
pected failure  in  undertaking  it,  and  met  with 
success.  Deeply  impressed  by  the  part  of  Lady 
Macbeth,  which  I  had  never  seen  on  the  stage, 
I  hoped  for  success  in  it,  and  met  with  failure. 
My  performance,  however,  was  well  received  by 
the  general  public,  though  it  disappointed  my 
best  critics  and  myself. 

I  believe  that  Lady  Macbeth  is  not  only  the 


JOSEPH  JEFFERSON  ON    IMMORAL  PLAYS  83 

most  difficult  of  all  Shakespeare's  women  to  im- 
personate naturally,  but  the  most  unsympathetic 
to  the  public;  yet  none  of  Shakespeare's  works 
appeal  to  me  more  strongly  than  "  Macbeth  "  as  a 
reading  play.  "  La  Fille  de  Roland,"  by  Henri  de 
Bornier,  was  also  added  to  my  repertory  during 
the  Southern  tour.  The  nobility  and  purity  of 
this  tragic  drama  always  touched  the  audience,  and 
made  one  wish  for  others  like  it.  The  period  it 
pictures  is  that  of  chivalric  Charlemagne,  still  on 
the  throne,  full  of  honorable  years,  and  the  blood 
of  Oliver,  Roland,  and  their  noble  companions 
showing  in  the  valiant  deeds  of  their  sons  and  the 
pure  and  courageous  characters  of  their  daughters. 
When  such  works  not  only  draw  the  public,  but 
influence  it  for  good,  one  cannot  but  regret  that 
so  many  which  leave  a  painful,  often  a  harmful 
effect,  should  be  produced.  I  am  aware  that  to 
say  this  is  to  run  counter  to  the  latest  develop- 
ment of  the  drama ;  but  I  fortify  my  opinion  by 
recalling  what  Joseph  Jefferson  once  said  to 
me.  He  was  very  severe  upon  plays  that  drag 
one  through  the  mire  of  immorality  even  when 
they  show  a  good  lesson  at  the  end.  "  What 
I  could  not  invite  my  friends  to  hear  and  see 
in  my  own   parlor,"  he   said,  "  I   would  not  feel 


84  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

at  liberty  to  put  before  my  friends  in  the  the- 
atre." 

I  remember  that  at  a  luncheon-party  years  after 
the  above  conversation, "  La  Tosca  "  was  discussed, 
and  Mr.  James  Russell  Lowell  was  asked  what  he 
thought  of  the  play.  "  I  have  not  seen  it,"  he  an- 
swered. "  I  refuse  to  have  my  mind  dragged  in 
the  gutter.  If  Madame  Bernhardt  will  appear  in 
such  plays,  I  for  one  will  forego  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  her  act."  I  have  also  heard  Tennyson 
declaim  against  "  this  realism,  this  degradation  of 
the  drama,"  as  he  called  it. 

My  engagement  at  Ford's  Theatre,  Baltimore, 
took  place  during  the  visit  of  the  Emperor  and 
Empress  of  Brazil  to  that  city.  They  came  to  a 
performance  of  "  Evadne,"  and  sent  for  me  to  go 
to  their  box  at  the  end  of  the  play.  They  were 
to  leave  Baltimore  the  following  day.  When  the 
curtain  rang  up  on  the  next  night's  play,  the 
"  Lady  of  Lyons,"  it  was  a  pleasant  surprise  to  see 
them  again  in  the  same  box.  They  had  returned 
unexpectedly,  and  were  kind  enough  to  say  they 
had  come  back  expressly  to  see  me  in  another 
role.  The  second  interview  with  them  was  longer 
and  even  more  agreeable  than  the  first.  There 
was  a  nobility  about  Dom  Pedro's  head  that  re- 


UPHILL  WORK  85 

minded  one  of  certain  pictures  of  Charlemagne. 
His  manner  and  that  of  his  wife  was  exceedingly- 
sweet  and  gentle,  and  I  was  deeply  touched  by  his 
cordial  wish  that  I  should  go  to  Brazil,  where  he 
promised  me  success,  and  his  and  the  Empress's 
patronage.  There  was  much  said  about  their  sec- 
ond visit  to  the  theatre,  and  it  was  amusing  after- 
wards to  hear  a  newsboy  shouting,  "  Years  yur 
morning  pa-pi-er!  all  about  Dan  Peter  and  Mary 
and  her  son !" 

From  my  first  appearance  my  work  had  been 
difficult  and  uphill.  Without  any  training,  I  was 
gaining  experience:  not  hidden  in  a  small  part 
under  the  shadow  of  some  great  "  star,"  but  in  the 
bright  light  of  leading  characters,  filled  with  mem- 
ories of  Charlotte  Cushman,  Julia  Dean,  and 
Fanny  Kemble,  and  with  the  critical  eye  of  the 
public  full  upon  me.  Still  I  toiled  on,  hoped  on, 
prayed  on,  and  felt  the  work  slowly  growing  in 
ease  and  finish.  But  it  was  painfully  dishearten- 
ing to  find  myself  stranded  for  lack  of  technical 
knowledge  whenever  the  usual  enthusiasm  in  the 
great  scenes  refused  through  weariness  or  dis- 
couragement to  glow.  Indeed,  I  would  not  wish 
"my  dearest  enemy"  to  pass  through  the  uncer- 
tainties and  despondencies  of  those  early  years. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Few  theatre-goers  of  to-day  realize  the  differ- 
ence between  the  old  travelling  star  and  station- 
ary stock-company  system  and  the  present  one, 
when  every  star  has  his  or  her  own  support. 
Though  one  could  cite  numerous  individuals  who 
have  soared  high  in  the  theatrical  firmament  in 
spite  of  it,  the  effect  of  the  former  system  could 
not  but  be  pernicious  in  its  influence  on  dramatic 
art  generally,  principally  because  of  the  lack  of 
time  on  the  part  of  the  company  to  study  and 
digest  their  work,  and  so  give  to  it  the  respect 
and  importance  due  to  it  as  an  art.  Besides,  it 
seemed  to  me  anything  but  conducive  to  intel- 
lectual or  artistic  growth  or  to  originality.  It  fet- 
tered and  cramped  one,  and  its  conventionalities 
frequently  descended  to  mere  tricks.  One  of 
these,  much  practised  at  the  time,  was  for  the 
actor  to  stand  in  the  centre  of  the  stage  as  far 
back  as  possible  (in  the  lime-light,  if  there  was 
one),  so  as  to  force  the  other  artists,  in  listening 


A  STAGE-TRICK  REMEDIED  87 

to  him,  to  turn  their  backs  upon  the  audience, 
thus  concentrating  all  the  attention  upon  himself; 
then  say  his  speech,  whatever  it  might  be,  begin- 
ning pianissimo  and  ending  fortissimo;  after 
which  he  was  to  sweep  grandly  into  the  corner 
and  wait  for  his  applause,  which  usually  came 
from  "  the  unskilled "  and  made  "  the  judicious 
grieve."  Before  learning  the  remedy  for  this 
trick,  which  had  in  it  nothing  resembling  the 
manner  of  "  Christian,  pagan,  or  man,"  I  often 
had  an  Ingomar,  Colonna,  Master  Walter,  take 
me  by  the  hand,  swing  me  below  him,  then  spring 
back  three  or  four  steps,  and  keep  me  during  all 
of  his  speeches  with  my  back  to  the  audience, 
literally  forcing  me  down  the  stage  until  I  was 
almost  in  the  foot-lights.  Dion  Boucicault  unfold- 
ed to  me  the  antidote  for  this  evil,  which  was, 
"  Simply  turn  your  back  upon  the  bellowing  art- 
ist, and  in  ignoring  him,  cause  the  public  to  do 
likewise."  It  was  amusing  to  see  how  humbly 
the  old-stager  came  down  from  his  central  posi- 
tion, and  turned  his  back  to  the  public — even  that, 
to  get  you  to  look  at  him.  These  practices  often 
grew  into  conflicts  between  actors  playing  lovers' 
parts.  Each  player  acted  for  himself,  and  ignored 
the  ensemble.     From  this  and  other  equally  per- 


88  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

nicious  traditions  I  soon  learned  that  the  training 
of  those  companies  was  worse  than  no  training  at 
all.  Like  the  animals  in  Noah's  Ark,  they  were 
composed  of  two  and  two  "leads,"  "heavies,"  "ju- 
veniles," "  walking,"  "  utility,"  etc.,  and,  if  the  the- 
atre was  prosperous,  a  dozen  or  two  "thinkers," 
of  both  sexes.  The  vocation  of  these  was,  ap- 
parently, to  listen,  think,  sympathize  with  the 
joys  and  sorrows  of  the  hero  and  heroine,  and 
gesticulate  wildly  and  indiscriminately.  They 
were  accused  by  utility  persons,  who  were  a  round 
higher  on  the  ladder,  and  who  occasionally  made 
such  remarks  as  "  Yes,  my  lady,"  or  "  The  chariot 
waits,  my  lord,"  of  carrying  their  gestures  in  a 
box,  and  using  the  same  on  all  occasions.  Each 
week  brought  a  different  star,  with  a  round  of 
new  plays,  to  these  companies  (long  runs  were 
almost  unheard  of  then),  and  they  had  frequently 
to  memorize  their  parts  while  standing  in  the 
wings  during  the  performance,  awaiting  their 
cues  —  "winging  a  part,"  it  was  called.  Rapid 
study,  a  hurried  rehearsal  daily,  the  rearranging 
of  their  costumes  for  the  ever-changing  plays,  left 
them  no  free  time  to  reflect  upon  the  characters 
they  were  to  enact ;  and  for  this  uncommon 
amount  of  work  they  gained  but  a  meagre  sal- 


HUMILIATING  INFERENCES  89 

ary  and  a  facility  for  memorizing,  which  is  the 
smallest  part  of  an  actor's  art. 

We  visited  yearly  all  the  Southern  and  Western 
cities  which  boasted  of  such  companies :  Cincin- 
nati, Louisville,  St.  Louis,  Chicago,  Baltimore, 
Washington,  etc.  Though  the  experience  was 
very  hard,  I  learned  little  by  it,  except  many  of 
the  most  irritating  of  the  old -school  traditions, 
and  to  identify  the  art  with  unceasing  drudgery. 
In  the  smaller  towns,  where  a  travelling  circus  or  a 
minstrel  show  was  the  general  form  of  entertain- 
ment, we  took  a  limited  company  of  our  own. 
The  inhabitants  usually  stared  at  us  as  though  we 
were  the  menagerie  of  one  of  their  yearly  shows. 
Though  we  produced  nothing  but  strictly  legiti- 
mate plays,  we  realized  with  humiliation  that  we 
were  classed  with  the  lowest  grade  of  entertainers. 
I  remember  one  afternoon  a  small  street  urchin 
recognized  me,  and,  calling  together  a  crowd  of 
boys,  shouted,  in  great  excitement,  "  Come  along, 
boys,  here's  the  circus ;  come  on  and  have  a  free 
look  at  the  circus !"  He  evidently  became  an 
admirer,  for  after  the  morning's  performance  we 
saw  his  ragged  figure  in  the  crowd  that  came  to 
have  a  look  at  "the  circus"  as  it  left  the  theatre. 
He   was   standing   near   the   carriage,  and,  as  I 


9©  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

entered  it,  he  looked  at  me  wistfully,  and,  hold- 
ing out  his  dirty  little  hand,  said,  "  I  say,  Mary, 
do  give  us  a  kiss!"  Such  publicity  in  the  streets 
became  very  painful  to  me.  I  dreaded  being 
stared  at  and  vulgarly  remarked;  and  though  I 
dressed  as  simply  as  possible  to  avoid  attention, 
such  incidents  were  of  constant  occurrence.  On 
another  occasion,  while  driving  to  the  hotel  in 
an  omnibus  with  the  company,  the  conductor 
poked  his  head  in  at  the  window  and  accosted 
my  mother — she  being  the  most  dignified  look- 
ing of  the  party  —  with  "I  say,  miss!  what  time 
does  your  show  commence  ?"  "  Show,"  being 
a  word  connected  with  the  Living  Skeleton,  Fat 
Woman,  and  Waxworks,  was  more  than  she 
could  bear.  She  looked  at  him  indignantly, 
and,  in  crushing  tones,  answered,  "  My  good 
man,  this  is  not  a  '  show ' !"  "  Well,  miss,  what 
in  thunder  is  it,  then?"  "An  intellectual  treat!" 
This  answer  so  mystified  her  questioner  that  he 
remained  silent  for  the  rest  of  the  drive,  appar- 
ently turning  over  in  his  mind  whether  or  not  he 
should  ask  for  a  free  pass  to  such  an  ambiguous 
entertainment  as  an  "intellectual  treat."  This 
expression  became  a  byword  in  the  company. 
Those  barn-storming  tours  were  full  of  incident, 


AN    UNEXPECTED  ARREST  91 

accident,  and  amusement.  I  can  never  forget  a 
morning  performance  when  two  young  men,  who 
had  evidently  begun  making  their  New-year's 
calls  early  in  the  day,  so  disturbed  the  actors  and 
public  with  loud  remarks  that  it  was  with  difficulty 
we  finished  the  scene.  When  it  was  over,  Mr. 
John  W.  Norton,  who  was  part  manager  and 
leading  man,  ordered  the  offenders  to  be  re- 
moved— which  had  to  be  done  by  force.  Being 
pressed  for  time  the  following  morning,  I  hurried 
across  to  the  theatre  alone.  There  I  found  two 
hard-featured,  collarless  fellows  upon  the  stage. 
One  of  them  approached  me,  and  in  a  rough  voice 
said :  "  We  are  here  in  the  name  of  the  law,  to 
seize  your  baggage  or  arrest  you."  I  was  too 
dumfounded  to  ask  them  why  they  wished  to 
make  me  a  prisoner,  for  horrible  visions  of  false 
accusations  of  murder  or  robbery  rose  up  before 
my  startled  mind,  and  probably  made  me  look  as 
guilty  as  though  I  had  committed  both.  The 
first  old  woman,  the  comedian,  and  a  few  utility 
people  were  on  the  stage.  In  the  presence  of 
these  unshaven  guardians  of  the  law  they  were 
even  more  alarmed  than  I.  The  situation  was 
terrifying.  On  recovering  a  little  presence  of 
mind  I  quickly  resolved  on  escape  at  any  cost. 


92  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

Extreme  politeness  was  my  first  move  in  that 
direction.  With  a  beating  heart  but  smiling 
face  I  placed  two  chairs  for  the  unwelcome 
visitors  by  the  stove.  Taking  one  myself,  I  began 
questioning  them  about  their  families,  while  anx- 
iously looking  for  the  appearance  of  some  rescuer. 
Though  their  replies  were  discouragingly  curt, 
this  ruse  succeeded,  for  when,  answering  an  im- 
aginary call  from  the  wings,  I  asked  for  a  mo- 
ment's grace,  they  readily  assented.  I  knew  of  a 
side  exit  through  an  alley,  often  used  to  escape 
the  curious  crowd  that  generally  collected  about 
the  stage -door.  I  walked  calmly  across  the 
stage,  and  once  outside  ran  like  one  possessed 
to  the  hotel.  There  I  found  Mr.  Norton,  who 
hastily  escorted  me  to  our  rooms,  advising  my 
mother  and  me  to  remain  in  them  with  locked 
doors.  Two  more  frightened  women  it  would  be 
difficult  to  imagine,  for  we  had  no  idea  what  the 
threatened  arrest  meant.  Later  on  we  learned 
that  all  the  trouble  had  been  caused  by  the 
ejected  disturbers  of  the  day  before.  Some  in- 
fluential friends  went  bail  for  me.  There  was  a 
trial,  and  I  am  happy  to  say  the  offenders  only 
received  two  cents  damages.  Why  they  received 
even  this — being  disturbers  of  the  public  peace — 


HEARS  GRAND  OPERA   FOR  THE  FIRST   TIME        93 

must,  I  suppose,  remain  forever  an  added  mys- 
tery to  the  clouded  working  of  the  law. 

The  tragedy  into  which  my  name  was  dragged, 
unconscious  though  I  was  of  the  existence  of  its 
perpetrator,  occurred  soon  after.  I  allude  to  the 
mournful  event  which  created  so  much  sensation 
at  the  time,  when  a  young  and  attractive  girl,  im- 
agining her  lover  attached  to  me,  wounded  him 
and  killed  herself,  after  having  sought  in  vain  to 
take  my  life.  Many  of  those  early  days  were  as 
fraught  with  danger  and  excitement  as  with  dis- 
comfort and  weariness.  I  have  often  smiled  at 
the  general  belief  that  my  path  has  been  one  of 
roses. 

During  a  visit  to  Canada,  while  resting  in 
Toronto  before  beginning  a  week's  engagement, 
I  heard  a  grand  opera  for  the  first  time.  My 
pleasure  in  the  music  was  so  great  that  I  had 
to  be  constantly  reminded  not  to  rise  and  cry 
out  with  enthusiasm.  The  operas  were  "  Faust," 
"  Trovatore "  (old-fashioned,  yet  ever  fresh),  and 
"  Martha."  Brignoli  in  the  leading  roles  was  ad- 
mirable, though  he  had,  through  growing  obesity, 
lost  much  of  the  grace  which  for  many  years  had 
made  him  such  an  idol  with  women.  His  fresh, 
beautiful,  and  impassioned  voice  soon  swept  one 


94  A    FEW   MEMORIES 

into  forgetfulness  of  his  looks  and  inferior  acting. 
In  those  days  I  always  took  with  me  an  old  friend 
in  the  shape  of  a  guitar,  upon  which,  as  a  child, 
I  had  picked  out,  with  much  labor,  a  sufficient 
number  of  chords  to  accompany  a  few  favorite 
songs.  One  day  Brignoli  passed  our  rooms  while 
I  was  singing  "  The  Irish  Immigrant's  Lament." 
He  requested  an  introduction,  and  tried  to  per- 
suade me  to  start  for  Milan  at  once  for  a  year's 
training,  and  then  to  become  an  opera  singer. 
"  But,"  said  I,  "I  am  already  on  the  stage.  I  act 
Juliet,  Lady  Macbeth,  and  all  kinds  of  fine  tragic 
parts."  "  Leave  them  all  alone,"  he  answered. 
"  With  your  voice  you  would  have  a  far  more  dis- 
tinguished success  on  the  operatic  than  on  the 
dramatic  stage."  Though  delighted  to  know  from 
him  that  I  could  sing,  I  assured  him  that  I  would 
not  let  go  my  hold  on  the  robe  of  Melpomene  for 
the  glories  of  all  the  other  muses  put  together. 

The  difference  between  the  audiences  in  Can- 
ada is  very  marked.  In  Toronto  and  Ottawa  they 
are  reserved,  and  much  harder  to  arouse  than  at 
Montreal,  where  the  French  element  gives  to  the 
public  a  glow  of  Continental  warmth.  The  en- 
thusiasm there  over  my  work,  crude  as  it  was, 
caused  the  people  to  take  the  horses  from  my  car- 


ATTRACTIVE   OFFERS   FROM   THE  EAST  95 

riage  and  drag  it  through  the  streets.  This  and 
other  marks  of  their  favor  were  shown,  I  felt,  not 
for  what  I  then  did,  but  for  what  they  thought  my 
future  promised ;  for  I  was  full  of  youthful  ex- 
aggeration, and  impetuosity  often  swept  me  far 
away  from  my  characters.  Still,  this  kindness  was 
none  the  less  appreciated,  as  the  encouragement  of 
early  efforts  often  fires  the  spark  of  ultimate  pos- 
sibilities. Many  English  friends  in  Canada  proph- 
esied success  for  me  in  London.  After  a  flash  of 
enthusiasm  on  the  subject,  these  flattering  pre- 
dictions were  put  aside,  for  I  had  no  wish  to  act 
out  of  America. 

The  critical  judgment  of  the  Eastern  States  in 
matters  dramatic  was  thought  by  the  theatrical 
profession  to  be  very  great,  and  an  artist  was  not 
considered  in  the  first  rank  until  he  had  been 
stamped  with  the  approval  of  a  Boston  or  a  New 
York  audience.  Contented  with  the  South  and 
West  as  a  field  for  work  and  improvement,  I  never 
thought  of  the  East  until  attractive  offers  from 
several  managers  induced  Dr.  Griffin  to  accept 
engagements  in  Philadelphia,  New  York,  and  Bos- 
ton. To  me  the  world  seemed  to  hold  no  greater 
artistic  centres  than  these  cities,  for  the  thought 
of  visiting  Paris  or  London  had  never  seriously 


96  A    FEW    MEMORIES 

entered  my  mind.  The  excitement  of  acting  in 
Philadelphia,  Boston,  and  New  York  was  intense. 
My  first  character  at  the  Walnut  Street  Theatre, 
Philadelphia,  was  Evadne.  At  the  rehearsals 
everything  was  so  much  brisker  and  more  busi- 
ness-like than  what  I  had  been  accustomed  to,  and 
the  whole  atmosphere  so  entirely  new,  that  I  was 
weighed  down  with  apprehension  lest  the  audi- 
ences should  be  different  also.  Fortunately  the 
familiar  faces  of  some  of  the  "metropolitan  artists" 
who  had  been  with  me  "  barn-storming  "  made  me 
feel  less  strange.  My  surprise  at  the  night's  per- 
formance, when  double  recalls  continually  greeted 
me,  was  only  equalled  by  the  pleasure  I  felt  when 
the  press  verified  the  success  of  the  night  before. 
During  that  visit  we  saw  much  of  R.  Shelton 
McKenzie,  the  friend  and  biographer  of  Charles 
Dickens.  He  was  as  interesting  in  himself  as  in 
his  reminiscences  of  Sheridan  Knowles,  Dickens, 
and  many  other  eminent  men,  whose  names  and 
works  had  been  familiar  to  me  for  years.  He 
was  a  plump  little  man,  with  shining  brown  eyes, 
and  a  ruddy  face  surmounted  by  a  wig  of  sleek, 
red  hair,  which  often,  in  moments  of  excitement, 
got  awry,  causing  him  much  annoyance.  I  re- 
member how  he  used  to  jerk  it  into  place,  remark- 


STIMULATED  BY  KINDNESS  97 

ing  that  it  was  "  a  great  bore,"  as  it  invariably  lim- 
ited his  enthusiasm.  Upon  my  asking  why  he 
did  not  discard  it,  he  answered  that  if  he  suddenly 
got  rid  of  such  a  shock  of  hair  every  one  would 
realize  that  he  had  been  indulging  in  a  wig.  I 
assured  him  that  any  one  glancing  at  his  locks 
would  easily  discover  their  true  nature.  When 
we  returned  to  Philadelphia  the  next  year  he  ap- 
peared with  a  shining  bald  head  fringed  with  sil- 
very hair,  which  gave  him  an  almost  Pickwickian 
cheeriness  and  benevolence  of  face — Nature  bring- 
ing out  a  frankness  and  charm  of  countenance 
which  the  false  hair  had  completely  hidden.  Wigs 
are  certainly  great  enemies  of  the  human  face, 
even  upon  the  stage.  They  are  useful  in  saving 
one's  own  hair  from  the  curling-tongs,  and  neces- 
sary for  illustrating  different  periods;  but  they 
generally  mar  facial  expression,  and  frequently 
add  to  the  years  they  are  supposed  to  conceal. 

The  unexpected  kindness  of  press  and  public 
was  a  stimulus  to  renewed  effort,  and  a  marked 
progress  was  the  result.  Still,  most  of  my  work 
was,  to  me,  sadly  immature  and  inartistic,  and  I 
felt  it  would  take  years  of  practical  experience  to 
remedy  my  lack  of  an  early  training.  In  New 
York,  however,  there  was  great  help  in  store  for 
7 


98  A   FEW  MEMORIES 

me  in  the  valuable  advice  of  Mr.  Dion  Boucicault 
and  Mr.  William  Winter.  Their  insight  into  dra- 
matic effect  was  a  revelation.  Mr.  Boucicault  en- 
tirely rearranged  the  business  of  Ingomar,  and 
gave  me  many  suggestions  for  my  general  work — 
usually  in  an  abrupt  manner,  for  he  had  but  little 
patience  with  what  displeased  him,  and  is  said  to 
have  frequently  made  his  leading  artists  shed  tears 
under  his  rigorous  direction. 

The  following  letter  from  the  author  of  "  The 
Shaughraun"  was  written  after  the  appearance  of 
some  severe  criticisms  in  two  New  York  papers. 
It  is  very  characteristic : 

"  Dear  Miss  Anderson, — I  had  written  this, 
intending  to  take  it  to  the  theatre  last  night,  but 
was  too  sick  to  go  out.  The  Herald  and  Times 
this  morning  have  increased  my  nausea.  Don't 
be  moved  by  them  to  lose  any  confidence  in  your- 
self. I  knew  Julia  Dean  well,  and  she  is  as  in- 
ferior to  you  as  I  am  to  Shakespeare  or  Sheridan. 
They  find  fault  with  you  for  your  lack  of  Art, 
which,  if  you  had  it,  they  would  recognize  as  a 
blemish  in  one  so  young.  Julia  is  neither  an 
heroic  part  nor  a  dramatic  one.  She  is  nonde- 
script   and    unnatural,    full    of    stage-trick    and 


"THE  HUNCHBACK"  UNDER  DISCUSSION  99 

mannerism ;  of  all  characters,  the  least  fitted  to 
you.  That  is  clear.  I  don't  think  I  shall  like 
you  in  it  any  more  than  I  should  like  to  see  a 
crinoline  and  chignon  on  the  Venus  of  Milo. 
Wash  the  blank-verse  out  of  the  dialogue,  and 
put  Clifford  and  Master  Walter  into  pants,  and 
"  The  Hunchback "  is  a  society  play  (and  not  a 
very  good  one  either).  What  the  devil  brings 
you  into  such  a  piece,  anyhow  ?  Stick  to  parts 
where  your  arms  are  not  bound  with  shoulder- 
straps,  nor  your  feet  tied  together  with  pullbacks 
or  frills.  You  want  sweep  and  stride.  I  think 
you  could  play  Rosalind,  and  give  it  an  altitude 
which  few  in  our  times  have  seen  ;  but  you  should 
give  it  a  long  study. 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"  Dion  Boucicault." 

The  difference  of  opinion  about  "  The  Hunch- 
back "  is  extraordinary.  Many  persons,  among 
them  Fanny  Kemble,  speak  of  it  as  a  great  play, 
while  the  majority  of  theatre-goers  look  upon  it 
as  stilted  and  impossible.  Personally,  I  have 
always  had  a  very  great  liking  for  the  part  of 
Julia.  To  me,  the  drawing  of  the  character  from 
beginning  to  end  is  without  blemish.     She  repre- 


ioo  A   FEW  MEMORIES 

sents  so  womanly  a  type  that  most  young  women 
can  hardly  help  sympathizing  with  her  feminine 
inconsistencies.  The  language  is  undoubtedly 
bombastic  at  times ;  still  the  substance  is  good 
and  the  sentiment  genuine. 

From  Lawrence  Barrett,  Edwin  Booth,  Joseph 
Jefferson,  and  Clara  Morris  I  also  learned  much. 
Long  practice  of  their  art,  constant  observation, 
and  years  of  study  in  the  school  of  hard  experi- 
ence had  made  them  the  best  of  critics. 

Up  to  that  time  I  had  allowed  the  daily  news- 
paper criticisms  to  influence  my  night's  work. 
An  old  actress  advised  me  to  give  up  reading 
press  notices  while  acting,  her  theory  being  that 
any  marked  comment,  whether  in  praise  or  blame, 
necessarily  made  one  self-conscious  of  the  point 
or  points  criticised,  thus  marring  the  spontaneity 
of  the  performance.  Thereafter,  articles  contain- 
ing useful  suggestions  made  by  capable  critics, 
who  clearly  stated  why  the  work  was  good  or  bad, 
were  carefully  put  aside,  and,  when  the  season 
was  over  and  study  recommenced,  often  proved 
profitable.  This  habit  of  not  reading  press  no- 
tices while  acting  was  kept  up  till  the  end  of  my 
stage  career. 

The  usual  feeling  of  loneliness  and  apprehen- 


HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW  IOI 

sion  on  entering  each  of  the  large  Eastern  cities 
— we  had  friends  in  none  of  them — was  of  short 
duration  in  Boston ;  for  soon  after  our  arrival 
James  T.  Fields  brought  a  letter  from  his  friend, 
Henry  W.  Longfellow,  the  poet,  inviting  us  to 
his  house,  in  Cambridge. 

The  influence  we  each  exercise  over  every  one 
with  whom  we  come  in  contact,  either  for  good  or 
ill,  is  not  to  be  denied.  Longfellow's,  I  believe, 
was  only  for  good.  Surrounded  by  the  calm  of 
his  peaceful  home,  it  seemed  as  though  the  hand 
of  evil  could  not  reach  him.  Every  conversation 
with  him  left  some  good  result.  His  first  advice 
to  me,  which  I  have  followed  for  years,  was :  "  See 
some  good  picture — in  nature  if  possible,  or  on 
canvas — hear  a  page  of  the  best  music,  or  read  a 
great  poem  daily.  You  will  always  find  a  free 
half-hour  for  one  or  the  other,  and  at  the  end  of 
the  year  your  mind  will  shine  with  such  an  accu- 
mulation of  jewels  as  to  astonish  even  yourself." 

He  loved  to  surround  himself  with  beautiful 
things.  I  have  seen  him  kneel  before  a  picture 
which  had  just  been  presented  him,  and  study 
every  detail  and  beauty  of  his  "  new  toy,"  as  he 
called  it,  with  a  minuteness  and  appreciation  which 
few  would  understand.    A  portrait  of  Liszt  he  was 


102  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

particularly  fond  of,  and  he  explained  how  it  was 
painted  for  him,  as  he  had  first  seen  the  master, 
descending  a  dark  staircase  in  his  own  house,  the 
light  of  a  candle,  which  he  held  high,  shedding  a 
golden  glow  over  his  silvery  head,  leaving  the  rest 
of  the  figure  in  shadow.  However  infested  with 
care  or  work  a  day  might  be,  a  visit  from  him  was 
sure  to  beautify  it.  I  once  mentioned  to  him  that 
his  poem,  "  The  Hanging  of  the  Crane,"  was  a 
great  favorite  of  mine.  "  I  am  so  glad  you  like  it," 
he  said,  simply ;  "  few  seem  to  know  or  care  for  it, 
and  it  is  a  particular  pet  with  me."  The  poet  was 
very  fond  of  a  good  comic  story,  and  had  many 
amusing  ones  of  his  own  experience.  He  was 
particularly  delighted  at  the  ingenuity  of  an  enter- 
prising vendor  of  patent  medicine,  who,  vaunting 
the  "  marvellous  effects  "  of  his  drug,  no  doubt  in 
the  hope  of  inspiring  the  poet,  invited  him  to 
write  a  verse  for  the  label,  promising  him  a  per- 
centage on  each  bottle,  and  a  free  use  of  the  medi- 
cine for  himself  and  family.  Persons  of  genius 
have  often  to  pay  dearly  for  their  prominence. 
On  one  of  his  birthdays  he  was  astonished  at  see- 
ing a  wagon  containing  a  piano  drive  up  to  his 
house,  followed  by  a  strange  young  lady  in  a  car- 
riage.    The  latter  informed  the  housekeeper  that 


LONGFELLOW'S  KINDLY  NATURE  103 

she  wished  it  to  be  put  in  a  room  where  it  would 
"  sound  well,"  as  she  had  composed  a  piece  of  mu- 
sic in  honor  of  the  poet's  birthday,  and  meant  to 
play  it  to  him  on  her  own  instrument. 

Longfellow  was  a  great  lover  of  music,  and 
Wagner  appealed  to  him  strongly.  We  heard  sev- 
eral operas  together  in  Boston  after  my  engage- 
ment there.  He  generally  arrived  before  us, 
armed  with  flowers  and  full  of  delightful  anticipa- 
tion. On  one  of  these  occasions  some  one  sent  a 
magnificent  bouquet  to  our  box.  Not  knowing 
the  donor,  I  did  not  take  it  up.  He  insisted  on 
my  doing  so.  "  Put  down  my  simple  ones,"  he 
said,  "and  take  up  these  beautiful  flowers.  It  will 
gratify  the  giver,  who  is  no  doubt  in  the  house; 
try  never  to  miss  an  opportunity  of  giving  pleas- 
ure. It  will  make  you  happier  and  better."  Kind- 
ness was  the  keynote  of  his  character.  No  incon- 
venience to  himself  was  too  great  if  a  good  turn 
to  any  one  was  at  the  end  of  it. 

A  few  months  before  his  death,  being  unable 
through  illness  to  leave  the  house,  he  sent  for 
us  again.  The  usual  warm  welcome  awaited  us. 
Luncheon  over,  he  showed  me  a  "  new  toy,"  and 
tried  to  be  amusing;  but  there  was  a  veil  of  sad- 
ness over  him,  and  I  noticed  how  feeble  he  had 


104  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

grown.  "  Until  the  spring,  then !"  he  said,  as  we 
parted,  "if  I'm  still  here.  I  wonder  if  we  shall 
meet  again !  I  am  old  now,  and  not  very  well !" 
He  apologized  for  not  seeing  us  to  the  carriage,  as 
was  his  wont,  but  stood  at  the  window  watching 
us  leave.  Its  sash  was  covered  with  snow.  His 
face  looked  like  a  picture  set  in  a  white,  glistening 
frame ;  for  the  sun  was  shining,  and  his  hair  and 
beard  were  nearly  as  white  as  the  snow  itself.  I 
can  see  him  still,  standing  there,  waving  his  last 
farewell.  Soon  after,  the  whole  English-speaking 
world  was  saddened  by  the  loss  of  one  of  its  sweet- 
est bards. 


CHAPTER  VII 

It  was  in  1878  that  I  went  abroad  for  the  first 
time.  We  spent  our  first  evening  in  Paris  at  the 
Comedie  Francaise.  Many  things  in  art  and 
nature,  too  great  to  be  grasped  at  once,  appear 
disappointing  at  first  sight.  I  admit  that  "  Her- 
nani,"  with  its  fine  cast  of  characters,  including 
Sarah  Bernhardt,  Got,  Worms,  and  Mounet  Sully, 
did  not  come  up  to  my  expectations.  Being  used 
to  the  broad  and  bold  effects  of  our  early  stage, 
the  refinement  and  faicsse  of  the  French  art  meant 
little  or  nothing  to  me.  I  longed  for  the  artists 
to  fling  their  restraint  to  the  winds  and  give  the 
public  a  good  old-fashioned  burst  in  the  tragic 
scenes,  such  as  I  had  been  accustomed  to  see  and 
indulge  in  myself.  When  the  curtain  fell  without 
it  I  was  unpleasantly  surprised.  Only  bright  and 
flaring  colors  appealed  to  me  in  those  days,  and 
the  delicate  tints  and  touches  with  which  these 
French  actors  gained  their  greatest  effects  ap- 
peared to  me  weak  and  insipid.     My  disappoint- 


106  A   FEW  MEMORIES 

ment  was  in  a  measure  alleviated  by  a  message 
from  Madame  Bernhardt,  inviting  us  to  see  her 
behind  the  scenes.  My  youth  had  evidently 
brought  my  name  before  the  great  actress.  She 
received  us  with  charming  cordiality,  and  after- 
wards asked  me  frequently  to  her  dressing-room. 
It  was  instructive  as  well  as  interesting  to  watch 
the  mysteries  of  her  toilet,  which  was  almost  fault- 
less. I  once  dared  to  hint  to  her  that  she  looked 
far  better  with  less  paint  on  her  cheeks  and  lips. 
She  followed  the  suggestion  at  once ;  indeed,  she 
seemed  as  much  of  a  girl  as  I,  and  had  nothing  of 
the  awe-inspiring  great  woman  about  her.  One 
night  we  were  going  through  a  passage  leading  to 
the  stage.  She  was  smiling  gayly,  and  looking  re- 
markably youthful  and  attractive.  In  a  moment 
her  face  grew  ugly  and  distorted  with  anger.  Like 
a  flash  she  ran  down  the  hall,  and  left  me  stand- 
ing there  without  a  word  of  explanation.  I  looked 
around  for  the  cause  of  this  sudden  passion,  and 
saw  a  written  notice  on  the  wall,  stating  that  Ma- 
dame Bernhardt  was  to  act  on  such  a  night  in  a 
certain  play.  In  a  few  seconds  she  came  back, 
the  fire  gone  from  her  eye,  and  taking  my  hand 
she  continued  her  gay  conversation.  Her  scene 
over,  we  returned  through  the  same  passage,  and 


SARAH   BERNHARDT^  MOT  107 

I  observed  that  the  notice  had  been  changed  to 
another  play  and  artist.  She  threw  a  triumphant 
glance  at  the  announcement  and  at  me,  which 
plainly  said,  "  See  what  a  queen  I  am  here  !" 

The  foyer  des  artistes  of  that  historic  theatre  is 
a  beautiful  room,  hung  with  portraits  of  all  its 
great  men  and  women :  Mars,  Talma,  Rachel,  etc. 
While  looking  at  these  I  asked  Madame  Bern- 
hardt why  her  "counterfeit  presentment"  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen.  "  You  would  like  to  see 
my  portrait  there  ?"  she  asked.  "  Oh  yes,  very 
much ;  you  belong  there !"  was  my  answer.  Et 
b iciiy  votes  ne  me  faites  pas  des  compliments  !  I 
cannot  have  my  portrait  there  until  I  am  dead  five 
years !"  And  she  laughed  merrily  at  my  silent 
.discomfiture.  The  play  that  night  was  again 
"  Hernani."  I  can  still  see  Mounet  Sully  as  the 
gallant  Spaniard,  swaggering  before  the  long  mir- 
ror as  he  swung  his  ample  cloak  about  him  until 
its  every  fold  was  to  his  liking;  and  Got,  the 
father  of  the  theatre,  in  his  sombre  costume,  play- 
ing at  cards  in  the  interval  before  he  should 
thrill  the  great  audience  by  his  terrible  entrance 
in  the  last  act.  I  could  not  but  recall  the  days 
when  little  Joe  and  I  had  felt  so  privileged  at 
being  allowed  to  sit  before  the  curtain  of  the  old 


108  A    FEW    MEMORIES 

Green  Street  theatre,  and  the  change  in  my  life 
that  had  brought  me  to  the  theatre  of  Moliere 
seemed  nothing  short  of  magic.  Like  Clara 
Morris,  Madame  Bernhardt  had  a  way  of  turning 
her  back  upon  the  audience  to  make  comic  re- 
marks or  grimaces  to  those  standing  in  the  wings. 
It  was  impossible  to  compliment  her  Dona  Sol 
when  she  constantly  distracted  one  with  amusing 
asides.  One  evening  she  said,  "  I  will  act  for  you 
to-night.  It  is  not  good  for  me,  but  you  will 
see."  After  the  first  acts — a  series  of  triumphs — 
she  came  to  the  death  scene.  I  shall  always  re- 
member it  as  the  most  powerfully  realistic  acting 
I  have  ever  witnessed.  When  it  was  over,  there 
was  wild  enthusiasm  in  the  house.  The  great 
actress  lay  upon  the  stage  like  one  really  dead.. 
Her  maids  ran  to  her  assistance.  There  was 
a  stain  of  blood  upon  the  handkerchief  put  to 
her  lips.  A  little  iced  champagne  restored  her, 
though  she  was  only  able  to  stand  quite  still, 
while  the  audience  thundered  its  applause.  She 
put  her  hand  on  my  shoulder  on  coming  off 
the  stage,  and,  with  a  faint  smile,  simply  said 
"Voila/"  We  had  many  talks  together  about 
dramatic  art.  She  professed  the  greatest  admira- 
tion for  the    works   of  Shakespeare.     It  was   a 


MADAME   RISTORI  109 

pleasure  to  act  scenes  from  "Romeo  and  Juliet" 
for  her,  while  she  sat  upon  the  floor  of  her  atelier 
in  her  strange  working  costume  of  pale  gray 
cloth,  made  like  a  man's  morning  suit,  with  no 
hint  of  the  woman  about  it  but  the  lace  scarf 
around  her  neck,  fastened  with  a  diamond  snake, 
and  her  tiny  white  satin  slippers.  She  was  a 
delightful  audience,  entering  into  one's  concep- 
tion of  each  scene  and  generously  applauding 
every  effort.  She  particularly  wished  her  country 
people  to  see  Shakespeare  acted  by  an  English- 
speaking  artist,  and  invited  me  cordially  to  pro- 
duce "Romeo  and  Juliet"  in  Paris,  promising  to 
make  all  the  arrangements,  even  to  engaging  a 
theatre.  Consciousness  of  my  lack  of  technique 
would  alone  have  prevented  my  accepting  such 
an  offer,  but,  besides  this,  several  important  en- 
gagements called  me  home.  I  have  always  had 
a  most  enthusiastic  admiration  for  her  wonderful 
genius,  and  a  sincere  belief  in  her  goodness  of 
heart. 

Among  other  charming  people  in  Paris  I  had 
the  privilege  of  meeting  that  most  noble  of  ac- 
tresses, Madame  Ristori.  Her  manner  was  warm 
and  unaffected,  and  there  was  a  genuineness  about 
her  which  put  one  immediately  at  ease.     It  is  a 


HO  A   FEW  MEMORIES 

fallacy  to  believe  that  all  players  must  of  neces- 
sity act  off  as  well  as  on  the  stage.  Many  of 
them  do,  I  admit,  but  most  of  the  famous  ones  are 
extremely  simple  in  real  life.  I  remember  once, 
in  an  animated  discussion  on  the  theatre  with  his 
Eminence  Cardinal  Manning,  citing  many  excel- 
lent examples  to  prove  that  his  theory  that  all  actors 
must  eventually  grow  into  "  shams  "  was  not  true. 
This  was  after  my  retirement  (which  event,  he  in- 
formed me,  he  had  prayed  for),  and  he  saw  that  I 
spoke  dispassionately.  He  listened  attentively  to 
all  I  had  to  say  upon  the  subject,  but  was  not  in 
the  least  convinced.  His  prejudice  against  the 
stage  was  deep-rooted.  "  From  our  cradles,"  he 
said,  "  we  all  have  a  tendency  to  act.  Small  boys 
pretend  to  be  men,  soldiers,  anything  but  what 
they  really  are.  Tiny  girls  play  at  being  moth- 
ers, cradling  their  dolls.  The  so-called  art  of  act- 
ing increases  this  tendency  in  those  who  witness 
it  almost  as  much  as  in  those  who  practise  it.  I 
cannot  conceive  how  the  latter  can  escape  being 
led  in  time  to  an  unconscious  development  of  ar- 
tificiality or  exaggeration  in  their  thoughts,  and, 
as  a  natural  result,  in  their  speech  and  manner." 
His  dislike  for  the  theatre  was  so  marked  that  he 
could  see  no  good  in  it.    To  quote  his  own  words, 


CARDINAL  MANNING  CONDEMNS   PLAY-ACTING    in 

"  its  tendency  is  downward  and  pernicious."  He 
was  not  to  be  moved  from  his  condemnation  of 
the  effects  of  play-acting,  and  repeatedly  congrat- 
ulated me  upon  escaping  the  stage  before  age  and 
habit  had  made  me  a  slave  to  it.  Among  other 
things,  he  said  that  when  those  under  his  direc- 
tion asked  if  he  forbade  them  frequenting  thea- 
tres, his  invariable  answer  was,  "  I  wish  I  could !" 
On  one  point  we  agreed  entirely:  that  was  in 
censuring  the  practice  of  acting  plays  in  schools 
and  convents  for  young  girls.  I  have  seen  much 
harm  done  to  children,  dressed  and  painted  and 
put  before  an  audience  of  prejudiced  relatives, 
who,  applauding  their  bad  acting  indiscriminate- 
ly, make  the  little  creatures,  as  a  rule,  painfully 
vain  and  self-conscious.  Were  any  real  good  to 
be  gained  by  such  exhibitions,  one  could  under- 
stand more  readily  their  raison  d'etre;  but  as  the 
children  derive  no  benefit  from  them,  and  certain- 
ly give  no  real  pleasure,  these  performances  seem 
not  only  a  loss  of  time,  but  of  that  modesty  and 
simplicity  so  beautiful  in  the  young.  I  have 
known  half  a  school,  where  acting  and  reciting 
were  taught,  pose,  roll  their  r's  in  a  theatrical 
way,  and  make  such  droll  contortions  as  to  be 
painfully  ridiculous.     Were  these  girls  intended 


H2  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

for  a  stage  career  such  training  would  be  worse 
than  none ;  but  when  one  considers  the  weeks  of 
study  and  rehearsal  under  poor  direction  —  at 
least,  as  far  as  I  have  observed — the  effect  upon 
their  young  and  impressionable  natures  is  noth- 
ing short  of  lamentable.  In  saying  that  acting 
does  not  necessarily  produce  affectation,  I  mean 
in  those  whose  characters  are  already  formed.  I 
do  not  allude  to  the  young  and  undeveloped,  who 
are  wrongly  taught  the  mere  outer  semblance  of 
the  art.  Reading,  on  the  contrary,  is  a  charming 
and  useful  accomplishment,  more  easily  acquired 
and  less  complicated  in  its  possible  results. 

But,  unconsciously,  I  have  wandered  far  from 
the  subject  of  this  chapter.  Our  stay  in  Paris 
should  have  been  rich  in  improvement,  for  I  had 
frequently  been  in  the  coulisses  of  the  Francais, 
conversing  with  many  of  its  greatest  artists  and 
watching  their  various  methods;  but  I  doubt  if 
much  was  gained  in  actual  experience.  A  good 
effect  of  the  trip  abroad — the  first  holiday  I  had 
enjoyed  since  beginning  to  study  for  the  stage,  six 
years  before  —  was  that  it  brought  back  all  the 
buoyancy  of  youth,  which,  as  an  exponent  of 
tragic  roles,  I  had  felt  it  necessary  to  subdue. 
My  greatest  pleasure  was  in  the  Louvre.     Rafael, 


A  NEW  YORK  ENGAGEMENT  113 

Leonardo,  Murillo,  Velasquez,  taught  me  more  of 
grace  and  beauty  than  I  had  ever  imagined.  My 
appreciation  of  Angelico  and  "  Les  Primitifs " 
came  later.  Pictorial  effects  are  of  great  impor- 
tance in  dramatic  art,  and  I  found,  on  getting 
back  to  work,  that  my  judgment  in  such  matters 
had  undergone  a  change  for  the  better. 

On  returning  to  Liverpool  we  were  delighted 
to  see  our  old  favorite,  J.  K.  Emmet,  in  his  in- 
imitable "  Fritz,"  arousing  a  usually  cold  and  criti- 
cal audience  to  enthusiasm.  Soon  after  our  arri- 
val in  New  York  an  engagement  was  begun  at 
the  Fifth  Avenue  Theatre.     The  repertoire  was : 

Biakca  in   "  Fazio." 
Juliet  in  "Romeo  and  Juliet," 
Lady  Macbeth, 
Parthenia  in  "Ingomar," 

Berthe  in  "  Daughter  of  Roland," 

Julia  in  "The  Hunchback," 
Pauline  in   "  The   I-ady  of  Lyons," 
Meg   Mi.ukji.iis  in   "Guy  Mannering," 
Evadne  in  "  Evadne," 
Duchess   of   Torrenueva  in  "  Faint  Heart  Ne'er  Won  Fair  Lady," 

and 
Ion  in  "  Ion." 

This  last  play,  by  Talfourd,  I  found  so  noble 
in  language  and  pure  in  plot  that,  although  the 

8 


H4  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

leading  part  was  that  of  a  youth,  I  could  not 
resist  producing  it.  As  a  character,  Ion  was 
more  beautiful  to  me  than  anything  I  had  yet 
acted. 

Unfortunately,  Talfourd,  in  this  his  master- 
piece, held  his  lamp  too  high  for  the  many.  Only 
the  few  appreciated  the  nobility  of  his  work,  and 
they  found  no  praise  too  strong  to  express  their 
delight  in  it.  No  role  has  ever  given  me  more 
pleasure.  And  unconsciously  I  pushed  poor  Ion 
forward ;  but  the  managers,  realizing  that  the 
masses  did  not  care  for  him,  snubbed  him,  to  my 
great  disappointment,  and  finally  I  was  compelled 
to  put  him  back  upon  the  shelf,  whereon  he  had 
lain  for  many  years,  before  I  had  taken  him  down 
at  the  advice  of  my  old  friend,  Thomas  H.  Hall. 

The  Countess,  in  Sheridan  Knowles's  play  of 
"  Love,"  was  likewise  added  to  my  repertoire,  but 
it  also  failed  to  please,  though  it  had  many  strong 
situations  and  a  charming  comedy  element.  To 
my  thinking  it  is  a  better,  though  unaccountably 
a  less  successful,  play  than  "  The  Hunchback." 
There  is  a  fine  hawking  scene  in  one  of  the  acts, 
which  would  have  been  spoiled  by  a  stuffed  falcon, 
however  beautifully  hooded  and  gyved  he  might 
have  been ;  for  to  speak  such  words  as — 


TRAINING  A   HAWK  1 15 

"  How  Nature  fashion'd  him  for  his  bold  trade, 
Gave  him  his  stars  of  eyes  to  range  abroad, 
His  wings  of  glorious  spread  to  mow  the  air, 
And  breast  of  might  to  use  them," 

to  an  inanimate  bird  would  have  been  absurd. 
With  great  difficulty  I  managed  to  obtain  a  splen- 
did hawk,  but  quite  untamed.  I  undertook  to  train 
him  myself  for  his  part,  which  was  to  fly  from  the 
falconers  shoulder  to  my  outstretched  hand,  and 
at  a  certain  pressure  of  his  claws  to  spread  his 
great  wings.  Armed  with  heavy  gauntlets  and 
large  goggles  I  took  him  from  his  cage  and  fed 
him  on  raw  meat  for  many  days,  hoping  thus  to 
gain  his  affection ;  but  painful  scratches  and  tears 
were  the  only  result.  Mr.  Edwin  Booth,  on  one 
of  his  visits  to  our  New  Jersey  home,  assured  me 
the  only  way  was  to  "  watch  him  tame,"  as  Desde- 
mona  promised  Cassio  to  watch  Othello.  This, 
however,  was  too  wearying,  for  it  meant  preventing 
the  bird  from  sleeping  until  his  spirit  should  break, 
when  he  would  become  tame  for  all  time.  Eventu- 
ally I  managed  to  subdue  him,  and,  as  an  actor,  his 
career  was  highly  successful.  But  constant  travel 
and  change  of  climate  proved  too  much  for  him. 
In  spite  of  the  greatest  care,  he  at  last  succumbed, 
and  our  noble  bird  was  buried  in  the  alley  at  the 


Il6  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

back  of  McVicker's  Theatre,  Chicago,  regretted  by 
all  his  fellow-actors.  Another  hawk  was  procured, 
a  very  savage  one,  who  on  his  first  appearance 
escaped  from  his  frightened  keeper,  and  so  terri- 
fied the  audience  that  he  was  given  up  for  a  stuffed 
substitute,  who,  in  life,  must  have  been  a  comedian, 
for  his  appearance  on  the  stage  was  always  greeted 
with  laughter. 

"  Ingomar,"  of  all  my  plays,  was  for  many  sea- 
sons the  public's  favorite.  The  part  of  Parthenia 
was  light,  and  gave  me  no  trouble.  Indeed,  it  was 
amusing  to  tame  a  barbarian  even  in  play-acting, 
and  to  observe  how  the  women  in  the  audience 
delighted  in  seeing  the  humiliating  conquest  of  a 
great  chief  by  one  of  their  sex. 

About  this  time  General  Sherman,  who  had  for 
some  years  suggested  Galatea  as  a  most  suitable 
part,  presented  me  with  a  copy  of  "  Pygmalion  and 
Galatea."  After  reading  it  several  times  I  resolved 
to  undertake  it.  It  did  not  appeal  to  me  in  the 
least;  but,  as  a  light  part,  I  thought  it  would  be 
restful.  It  was  at  Booth's,  in  New  York,  that  I 
first  appeared  as  the  statue  maiden.  At  Booth's 
the  comfort  of  the  artists  was  considered  of  as 
much  importance  as  that  of  the  audience.  How 
different  it  was  from  the  theatres  where  I  have 


STAGE  COSTUMES  117 

known  leading  actors  to  be  attacked  by  illness  in 
badly  ventilated  rooms,  or,  worse,  where  the  wind 
in  winter  blew  through  them  like  half  a  gale,  and 
any  uncomfortable  box  was  good  enough  for  the 
players.*  There  were  warmth,  comfort,  air,  and 
light  for  all  at  Booth's.  Though  the  public  gave 
up  that  fine  Temple  of  Art  so  readily,  every  one 
who  ever  had  the  privilege  of  acting  in  it  felt  a 
pang  when  it  was  converted  into  a  store.  There 
was  a  hope  and  belief  that  the  wealthy  New  York 
public  would  buy  and  restore  to  their  greatest 
actor  the  theatre  which  he  had  ruined  himself  in 
building,  and  where  he  had  given  them  produc- 
tions such  as,  up  to  that  time,  they  had  never  seen. 

The  dress  for  Galatea  was  a  great  difficulty. 
The  conventional  Greek  costume,  alter  it  as  one 
would,  bore  little  or  no  resemblance  to  the  beauti- 
ful tunicas  and  draperies  of  classic  times.  The 
abominable  "  key- pattern  "  was  everywhere  to  be 
seen,  and  seemed  always  to  say,  "This  may  be  a 
velvet  gown ;  but  look  at  me,  I  am  Greek,  and  I 
can  '  Greekify  '  even  a  mediaeval  dress." 

In  those  days  stage  costumes  told  one  very 
little  of  the  period  they  were  meant  to  represent, 

*  It  is  said  that  Rachel  caught  the  cold  that  ended  in  her  death  in  the 
draughty  dressing-room  of  a  Philadelphia  theatre. 


Il8  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

while  good  cut  and  color,  which  give  picturesque- 
ness  to  the  simplest  garment,  were  entirely  lacking. 
This  was  largely  due  to  the  fact  that  stock  actors, 
whose  salaries  were  small,  furnished,  in  most  cases, 
their  own  wardrobes,  and  four  or  five  dresses  did 
them  service  for  all  the  plays  of  a  season.  One 
hauberk  in  its  time  played  many  parts.  I  have 
seen  Claude  Melnotte,  a  colonel  in  the  French 
army  under  General  Bonaparte,  appear  in  the 
gray  uniform  of  a  Confederate  soldier.  Greek 
and  Roman  maidens  posed  in  high  heels,  chi- 
gnons, and  bends  miscalled  "  Grecian,"  and  med- 
iaeval Italians  strutted  the  stage  in  French  clothes 
of  the  last  century.  But  even  this  was  an  im- 
provement on  the  white  wig  and  red  coat  worn 
by  David  Garrick  in  "  Macbeth."  I  confess  to 
having  donned  stiff  skirts  and  French  heels  in  a 
Greek  part  for  several  seasons.  One  seemed  at 
the  mercy  of  the  costumer,  who,  in  spite  of  prints 
and  prayers,  invariably  finished  a  classic  robe  with 
a  modern  balayeuse.  I  was  beginning  to  despair 
of  ever  possessing  anything  like  a  real  tunica  when 
Mr.  Frank  D.  Millet  came  to  my  rescue.  From 
that  time  my  classic  wardrobe  was  entirely  satis- 
factory, for  not  only  did  this  excellent  artist  and 
friend  design  the  most  charming  and  correct  cos- 


FROM    IkniliK    SKF.TCH    BY    FRANK    I'.   Mil  I  F.I 


THE   DELSARTE   SYSTEM  1 19 

tumes  for  me,  but  had  them  cut  and  made  under 
his  own  supervision.  They  were  decried  at  first, 
as  new  things  generally  are,  but  in  a  short  time 
even  "old-stagers"  voted  them  both  beautiful  and 
effective.  There  was  a  particular  pleasure  in 
merely  donning  the  simple  and  flowing  draperies. 
Heels  and  wigs  were  given  up  with  alacrity  to 
obtain  the  desired  effect,  and  in  freeing  one's  self 
from  the  iron  grip  of  stays  (a  Greek  dress  cannot 
be  worn  well  with  them),  the  figure  became  im- 
measurably more  supple  and  graceful ;  for,  even 
when  not  laced  tightly,  their  stiffness  gives  a 
wooden,  dead  look  to  the  torso,  which  is  the  main- 
spring of  easy  movement. 

My  attention  had  been  called  some  time  before 
to  the  Delsarte  system.  Always  on  the  alert  for 
improvement,  I  determined  to  study  it.  As  far 
as  mechanical  exercises  were  concerned,  it  seemed 
to  me  perfect,  for  it  overlooks  no  muscle  or  ten- 
don of  the  face  or  body,  and  gives  strength,  sup- 
pleness, and  control  over  them  all.  The  rest  of 
the  system  I  afterwards  found  it  best  to  discard. 
One  of  its  weak  points  is  the  theory  that  outward 
expression  and  movement  awaken  and  control 
emotions ;  that  it  is  only  necessary  to  place  the 
body  and  fix   the  muscles  of  the  face  in  certain 


120  A  FEW    MEMORIES 

ways  to  feel  for  the  time  pain,  anger,  love,  hate, 
or  whatever  passion  one  wishes  to  simulate. 

About  this  time — 1880-81 — offers  were  re- 
ceived from  several  English  managers,  including 
one  from  Sir  Augustus  Harris.  These  were  re- 
fused, together  with  Mr.  Henry  E.  Abbey's  pro- 
posal to  take  me  across  the  Atlantic ;  for  my 
heart  failed  at  the  thought  of  appearing  before 
strangers.  Some  time  after  Mr.  Abbey  assured 
me  that  a  rest  from  the  usual  yearly  tour  would 
be  both  wise  and  profitable,  and  I  was  induced 
to  accept  an  eight  months'  engagement  at  the 
Lyceum  Theatre,  in  London. 

After  the  contract  was  signed  I  heard  from 
many  that  American  artists  never  succeeded  in 
England,  that  they  invariably  lost  money  there, 
and  that  the  English  felt  it  a  duty  to  crush  aspir- 
ing Americans,  socially  as  well  as  artistically. 
These  reports  were  far  from  reassuring,  but  there 
was  no  escape  from  the  contract.  It  seemed  a 
year  of  torture  was  drawing  near,  and  I  suffered 
much  at  the  mere  thought  of  what  was  before  me. 
My  last  performances  before  sailing  for  England 
were  at  the  Dramatic  Festival  in  Cincinnati,  held 
at  the  Academy  of  Music,  an  enormous  build- 
ing with  a  seating  capacity  of   over  eight  thou- 


NOTABLE  CASTS 


121 


sand  persons,  and  so  vast  a  stage  that  the  artists 
were  continually  losing  themselves  behind  the 
scenes.  The  first  play  of  the  festival  week  was 
"  Julius  Caesar,"  with  Lawrence  Barrett,  John 
McCullough,  and  James  E.  Murdoch  in  the  cast. 
The  second  performance  was  "  The  Hunchback," 
with  the  following  artists : 


Master  Walter 

.     Mr.  John  McCullough. 

Sir  Thomas  Clifford       .     Mr.  Lawrence  Barrett. 

Modus   . 

.     Mr.  Nat  Goodwin. 

Master  Hartwell 

.     Mr.  B.  G.  Rodgers. 

Fathom  . 

.     Mr.  Charles  Plunkett. 

Lord  Tinsell  . 

.     Mr.  Frank  Little. 

Master  Wilford 

.     Mr.  F.  C.  Mosely. 

Gaylove. 

.     Mr.  H.  C.  Barton. 

Thomas. 

.     Mr.  E.  Wilson. 

Servant  . 

.     Mr.  Homer  Hope. 

Julia 

.     Miss  Mary  Anderson. 

Helen     . 

.     Miss  Kate  Forsyth  e. 

As  was  expected,  with  scenery  worked  on  so 
large  a  scale,  several  accidents  occurred.  The 
entire  "drop"  fell  in  front  of  me  when  I  first 
stepped  on  the  stage.  Had  I  been  a  moment 
sooner,  it  would  have  struck  me,  and  so  put  an 
end  to  the  English  contract,  with  all  its  fears  and 
worries.  As  it  was,  no  harm  was  done,  and,  step- 
ping over  the  mass  of  wood  and  canvas,  I  pro- 
ceeded with  the  play.     There  was  something  al- 


122 


A  FEW  MEMORIES 


most  alarming  in  the  great  sea  of  faces  that  met 
one's  gaze.  Being  so  far  from  the  stage,  the  pub- 
lic was  provided  with  books  of  the  play,  and  it  was 
difficult  not  to  be  distracted  by  the  rustle  of  so 
many  thousand  turning  leaves.  The  fourth  per- 
formance was  "  Much  Ado  About  Nothing,"  with 
Lawrence  Barrett  as  Benedick,  John  Ellsler  as 
Dogberry,  and  Mile.  Rhea  as  Beatrice.  "Othello" 
was  given  with  the  following  cast : 


Duke  of  Venice 

.     Mr.  H.  A.  Langdon. 

Brabantio    . 

.     Mr.  B.  G.  Rodgers. 

Gratiano 

.     Mr.  Charles  Rolfe. 

Ludovico 

.     Mr.  Percy  Winter. 

Montano 

.     Mr.  H.  C.  Barton. 

Othello 

.     Mr.  John  McCullough. 

Cassio 

.     Mr.  John  A.  Lane. 

Iago    . 

.     Mr.  Lawrence  Barrett 

Roderigo     . 

.     Mr.  Frank  Little. 

Julio    . 

.     Mr.  E.  Wilson. 

Paulo  . 

.     Mr.  Errold  Duncan. 

Marco 

.     Mr.  Linney. 

Antonio 

.     Mr.  Albert  T.  Riddle. 

A  Messenger 

.     Mr.  Homer  Cope. 

Desdemona. 

.     Miss  Mary  Anderson. 

Emilia. 

.     Miss  Clara  Morris. 

The  character  of  Desdemona  had  been  care- 
fully studied  ;  but  having  never  seen  the  play  or 
acted  in  it,  I  knew  nothing  of  the  stage  business, 
and  resolved  not  to  think  of  situations,  exits,  and 


A  CONFUSED  PERFORMANCE  123 

entrances  until  the  rehearsals.  Mr.  Barrett  had 
directed  "Caesar"  and  I  the  "Hunchback."  It 
was  now  Mr.  McCullough's  turn,  for  on  such  oc- 
casions a  certain  etiquette  is  always  observed ; 
but  he  was  already  suffering  from  the  illness  that 
eventually  killed  him,  and  refused.  Consequently, 
during  our  one  rehearsal  we  had  no  direction  at 
all.  Seeing  the  dire  confusion  that  must  follow 
such  a  state  of  affairs,  and  not  having  the  faintest 
idea  where  to  look  for  any  of  the  characters  in 
their  entrances  and  exits,  I  turned  to  Miss  Morris 
for  help.  She  was  quite  as  much  in  the  dark  as 
I,  knowing  nothing  of  what  McCullough  and  Bar- 
rett usually  did  ;  but,  having  just  returned  from  a 
tour  with  Salvini,  she  proposed  that  we  should  fol- 
low his  directions.  This  was  more  confusing  than 
ever;  and  in  desperation  we  resolved  to  "  trust  to 
luck  " — a  dangerous  thing  to  do  before  an  audi- 
ence of  eight  thousand  persons.  The  result  of 
that  slip -shod  rehearsal  was  nearly  disastrous. 
Whenever  Desdemona  remarked  that  her  lord 
was  coming  from  one  side,  he  invariably  appeared 
in  the  opposite  direction,  thus  giving  the  audi- 
ence to  understand  that  Desdemona  had  eyes  in 
the  back  of  her  head.  In  one  scene  Miss  Morris 
and   I  were  together  upon  the  stage.     The  cue 


124  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

had  been  given  for  Othello  to  enter,  but  he  did 
not  appear.  To  fill  in  the  awkward  pause  that 
followed,  I  remarked,  "  Here  comes  my  noble 
lord !"  Another  pause !  but  no  Moor  in  sight. 
Miss  Morris,  equal  to  the  occasion,  said,  after  an- 
other wait,  "  I  will  go  and  seek  the  Moor,"  thus 
leaving  me  quite  alone  upon  the  vast  stage  during 
a  suspense  of  nearly  three  minutes,  which  seemed 
as  many  hours.  Fortunately  I  had  a  piece  of  em- 
broidery in  my  hand,  and  there  I  sat,  smiling  in- 
anely, and  trying  to  appear  as  though  the  situa- 
tion were  enjoyable.  Either  the  audience  felt  for 
me,  or  grew  weary  of  the  long  silence,  for  in  the 
midst  of  it  they  burst  into  applause  which  I  took 
as  a  reward  for  my  patience.  The  stillness  after 
that  grew  oppressive,  and  was  becoming  unbear- 
able, when  at  last  I  saw  Miss  Morris  with  Othello 
in  tow.  Springing  to  my  feet  and  flinging  away 
the  embroidery,  I  cried,  with  transport,  "  Oh,  be 
praised,  ye  heavens,  here  comes  the  noble  Moor 
at  last  !"  Having  quite  forgotten  the  scene 
(McCullough  was  changing  his  dress  for  the  next 
act),  his  entrance  was  precipitate  and  confused,  and 
it  was  some  time  before  we  regained  our  composure. 
Poor  Desdemona!  what  trials  she  passed  through 
that  night !    During  the  second  and  last  perform- 


END  OF  THE  DRAMATIC  FESTIVAL  125 

ance  of  "  Othello,"  when  she  had  herself  kept  the 
stage  waiting,  and,  after  divers  woes,  had  been 
comfortably  smothered  in  her  bed,  thanking  Heav- 
en that  the  performance  was  safely  at  an  end,  and 
inwardly  vowing  never  to  appear  in  that  character 
again,  suddenly  she  was  nearly  lamed  by  a  terri- 
ble blow  across  her  ankles.  It  was  the  good  {and 
heavy)  sword  of  Othello,  who  in  his  agony  of  grief 
had  flung  it  upon  the  bed.  Such  a  hurt  would  be 
bad  enough  even  if  one  were  able  to  dance  about 
and  scream  with  pain;  but  to  lie  quite  still  with- 
out a  quiver,  "that  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of 
all !"     I  have  never  played  that  character  since. 

"Hamlet"  was  given  on  Friday,  with  James  E. 
Murdoch  as  the  melancholy  prince,  John  McCul- 
lough  as  the  Ghost,  Lawrence  Barrett  as  Horatio, 
John  E.  Ellsler  as  Polonius,  Louis  James  as  La- 
ertes, and  Miss  Wainwright  as  Ophelia.  "  Romeo 
and  Juliet"  followed,  with  Mr.  Barrett  as  Romeo 
(he  was  greatly  amused  at  himself  in  the  charac- 
ter, saying  that  his  age  fitted  him  better  than  the 
part,  though  he  not  only  looked  but  acted  it  ad- 
mirably), John  McCullough  as  Mcrcutio,  and  my- 
self as  Juliet.  The  week  finished  with  the  second 
performance  of  "  Othello."  Financially,  I  believe, 
the  Festival  was  a  success,  though  it  was  far  from 


126  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

being  artistically  perfect.  "  Star  "  performances 
generally  draw  the  public,  who  go  out  of  curiosity 
to  see  several  favorites  together ;  but  they  are 
rarely,  if  ever,  satisfactory.  "  Stars "  are  kings 
and  queens  in  their  own  companies,  forming  and 
carrying  out  conceptions  not  only  of  their  own 
but  of  other  characters.  A  combination  of  several 
of  these  small  monarchs  is  generally  inharmo- 
nious, each  getting  his  effects  in  his  own  way, 
and  finding  it  impossible,  for  lack  of  sufficient  re- 
hearsal under  one  head,  to  sink  his  individual 
ideas  even  for  the  benefit  of  a  perfect  whole. 

Our  summer  home  was  at  that  time  at  Long 
Branch.  We  had  been  compelled  to  leave  Louis- 
ville years  before,  to  be  near  New  York,  the 
centre  of  all  things  theatrical.  In  the  winter  we 
were  homeless,  wandering  from  place  to  place, 
with  no  hint  of  rest  or  comfort.  That  year,  in- 
stead of  enjoying  the  quiet  of  a  beautiful  spring 
by  the  sea,  we  hurried  abroad. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

While  on  my  way  to  England — to  a  new  chap- 
ter in  my  stage  life — I  could  not  help  reviewing 
the  old  one,  of  eight  years,  which  I  had  just  fin- 
ished. The  retrospect  brought  as  much  pain  as 
pleasure.  The  chief  good  my  work  had  accom- 
plished, I  felt,  was  the  assurance,  verbally  and  by 
letter,  from  many  young  men  and  women  that  the 
examples  of  such  characters  as  Parthenia,  Ion,  and 
Evadne,  in  particular,  had  helped  them  in  their 
daily  lives,  and  strengthened  them  in  moments  of 
despondency  and  temptation.  Their  gratitude  to 
me,  as  the  humble  exponent  of  these  roles,  was 
my  most  valued  applause ;  for  it  proved  that,  in 
a  measure,  I  had  fulfilled  the  vocation,  so  long 
ago  dreamed  of,  in  undertaking  a  dramatic  career. 
My  efforts  had,  as  a  rule,  been  successful ;  but  the 
strain  of  constant  travel,  the  absence  of  home 
comforts  in  the  ever-changing  hotels,  the  responsi- 
bility of  rehearsals,  support,  stage -management, 
and,  above  all,  the  extreme  publicity  of  the  life, 


128  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

had  already  begun  to  be  distasteful  to  me.  The 
disappointments  connected  with  the  art  itself — 
the  painting  one's  pictures  with  one's  own  person, 
in  the  full  gaze  of  the  public,  the  dependence  upon 
inartistic  people  (often  compelled  to  use  the  theatre 
as  a  trade),  for  carrying  out  most  cherished  con- 
ceptions, and  the  constant  crumbling  of  ideals — 
made  me,  young  as  I  was,  long  to  leave  the  stage 
for  the  peace  and  privacy  of  a  domestic  life. 

I  had  a  greater  desire  than  ever  to  work,  but 
away  from  the  direct  eye  of  the  public.  The  life 
of  a  poet,  composer,  writer,  or  painter  seemed  ideal, 
for  they  could  express  their  innermost  thoughts 
and  inspirations  through  the  impersonal  mediums 
of  canvas,  music,  literature,  and  still  be  protected 
by  that  privacy  which  is  so  dear  to  most  women. 

But  it  was  too  late  then  to  change,  for  many 
years  of  labor  would  have  been  lost  if  turned  into 
other  channels;  all  my  studies  had  been  directed 
to  the  accomplishment  of  the  one  end.  So  I  deter- 
mined to  bend  all  my  energies  towards  perfecting 
that  which  I  had  already  begun. 

Mr.  Abbey  had  taken  the  Lyceum  for  eight 
months,  and  having  engaged  no  one  but  myself  to 
fill  the  time,  he  meant  to  close  the  theatre  in  case 
I  failed.     The   knowledge   of   this  added   to   my 


A  VISIT   TO  SHAKESPEARE'S   BIRTHPLACE         129 

feeling  of  responsibility  and  oppression  on  arriv- 
ing in  England. 

It  seemed  that  Edwin  Booth  was  always  to 
appear  in  my  hours  of  discouragement  as  friend 
and  comforter.  While  resting  in  Liverpool  after 
our  voyage  we  found  him  and  his  daughter  on 
the  eve  of  sailing  for  America.  His  sympathy 
roused  my  sinking  spirits,  and  gave  me  new  cour- 
age to  face  whatever  the  future  might  hold.  After 
his  departure  we  went  to  Warwickshire. 

Though  Goethe  says  that  Nature,  even  in  her 
most  smiling  mood,  has  but  little  power  to  console 
or  cheer,  it  has  always  seemed  to  me  that  hills 
and  brooks,  trees  and  sunny  landscapes,  help  to 
lighten  care  and  soothe  the  sorrowing  heart.  At 
all  events,  my  troubles  were  then  greatly  alleviated 
by  the  sight  of  Nature's  beaming  face. 

Our  visit  to  Stratford  was  especially  happy. 
The  Misses  Chataway,  those  charming  old  ladies 
who  formerly  guarded  Shakespeare's  birthplace 
with  such  reverential  care,  showed  us  much  cour- 
tesy, Mr.  William  Winter's  letter  serving  us  as  an 
open  sesame  to  their  kind  hearts.  I  was  allowed 
to  sit  alone  in  the  room  where  the  great  bard  was 
born,  or  to  restudy  my  parts  in  the  solitude  of 
the  little  chamber  where  hangs  his  portrait,  and 


130  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

where  as  a  youth  he  dreamed  his  hours  away. 
Those  bright  spring  mornings  in  the  hallowed 
house,  with  the  scent  of  sweet  Warwickshire 
flowers  blowing  in  at  the  open  casement,  the  after- 
noon walks  across  the  fields  to  Anne  Hathaway 's 
cottage,  with  the  sad  note  of  the  cuckoo  coming 
across  the  shining  meadows  from  some  hidden 
shelter,  the  chat  and  cup  of  tea  with  the  old  de- 
scendant of  the  Hathaways  while  sitting  in  the 
chimmey  -  settle,  where,  no  doubt,  Shakespeare 
wooed  and  won  "  Sweet  Anne,"  threw  over  each 
hour  a  spell  of  the  olden  time,  when  the  Bard  of 
Avon  lived  and  sang  and  loved ;  a  stroll  through 
the  old-fashioned  garden,  fragrant  with  sweet  lav- 
ender, thyme,  rosemary,  or  rue;  a  look  into  the 
dark,  shining  water  of  the  well  that  has  reflected 
the  face  of  the  great  bard  himself  and  the  faces 
of  Byron,  Scott,  Dickens,  and  a  host  of  others 
who  have  made  themselves  dear  to  our  hearts; 
then  back  again  across  the  fields  in  the  gloaming ; 
a  word  here  and  there  with  the  townspeople,  so 
full  of  character  and  intelligence ;  a  quiet  dinner 
at  The  Red  Horse,  filled  with  memories  of  Wash- 
ington Irving;  and,  to  finish  the  evening,  a  row 
in  the  moonlight  by  the  old  church,  where  the 
master  now  "  sleeps  well."     Not  a  sound  but  the 


WARWICKSHIRE  AND  KENILWORTH  131 

dip  of  the  oars,  the  rustle  of  the  swans  following  in 
our  wake,  and  the  deep  tones  of  the  organ  stealing 
down  to  us  from  the  church,  the  glimmer  of  the 
organist's  lamp  through  the  stained-glass  window 
making  a  point  of  soft  and  varied  color  in  the  sil- 
ver light  without. 

After  lingering  as  long  as  possible  at  Stratford 
we  visited  most  of  the  interesting  parts  of  War- 
wickshire, driving  from  place  to  place  over  those 
perfect  roads  so  well  known  and  loved  by  Ameri- 
cans. The  delicious,  clover -scented  air,  the  gar- 
den-like landscape,  the  long  and  ambient  twilights, 
our  youthful  pleasure  in  everything,  made  the 
tour  seem  like  a  lovely  dream.  Yet,  as  I  have 
since  realized,  only  those  who  have  lived  in  the 
country  of  England  can  fully  appreciate  its  marked 
character  and  beauty. 

At  Kenilworth  we  stayed  at  the  humble  little 
cottage  which  had  sheltered  Walter  Scott,  who  is 
said  to  have  gone  there  to  write  his  great  novel 
under  the  shadow  of  the  noble  ruin.  A  villager 
told  us,  how,  as  a  child,  he  had  seen  Sir  Walter 
standing  on  the  knoll  near  Amy  Robsart's  win- 
dow, and  how  his  figure,  wrapped  in  a  long  cloak, 
seemed  to  tower  in  the  moonlight.  I  shall  never 
forget  those  days  and  nights:  all  peace  and  har- 


132  A  FEW    MEMORIES 

mony,  no  rush,  no  mad  effort  for  gain ;  time  for 
thinking,  dreaming,  communing  with  one's  self, 
and  for  realizing  how  much  of  what  one  had  taken 
on  trust  had  sunk  into  one's  nature.  Then  to  be 
living  where  the  great  dead  had  lived — those  who 
have  filled  our  minds  and  hearts  with  the  glory 
of  their  genius ;  to  walk  in  the  meadows  they  had 
traversed,  to  sit  under  the  trees  that  had  sheltered 
them,  to  wander  through  the  cloisters  of  the  old 
churches  where  they  rest,  gave  one  almost  a  feel- 
ing of  intimacy  with  those  who  had  before  seemed 
so  distant  and  inaccessible.  Truly,  the  delights 
and  interests  of  the  old  world  to  a  child  of  the 
new  are  legion. 

After  the  fresh,  bright  country  life  it  was  very 
depressing  to  go  into  dark,  smoky  London.  My 
heart  sank  low  as  we  drove  to  our  hotel,  for  I 
knew  that  in  three  months'  time  I  should  have  to 
face  that  public  which  looked  so  cold  and  indiffer- 
ent as  it  surged  through  the  crowded  thorough- 
fares. 

Being  lonely  and  despondent,  and  having  no 
friends  in  London,  we  spent  our  evenings  at  the 
theatres.  Our  first  visit  was  to  the  St.  James's 
to  see  "  Impulse."  When  Mrs.  Kendal  came  upon 
the   stage,  her   radiant   smile,  her   beautiful   hair 


HENRY   IRVING   AND   ELLEN   TERRY  133 

simply  arranged,  and  no  shadow  of  "  make-up  "  or 
artificiality  about  her,  I  thought  her  one  of  the 
most  charming  women  I  had  ever  seen  on  the 
boards.  Her  admirable  acting  was  as  free  from 
the  theatrical  as  her  appearance.  The  Lyceum 
struck  me  as  being  a  very  gloomy  house,  not 
nearly  so  bright  or  attractive  as  Booth's,  McVick- 
er's,  The  Boston,  or  many  of  our  theatres ;  but 
when  the  curtain  rose  this  sombreness  proved  a 
decided  advantage  to  the  stage  pictures.  The 
play  was  "  The  Lyons  Mail,"  and  I  thought  it  well- 
nigh  as  perfect  in  its  acting  as  in  its  every  detail. 
Mr.  Irving's  performance  of  both  characters  left 
nothing  to  be  wished  for,  and  Miss  Terry,  by  her 
artistic  treatment,  made  the  small  part  of  Jeanette 
important.  I  was  much  touched  during  the  play 
when  she  slipped  into  our  box,  and,  in  her  delight- 
fully informal  way,  gave  me  a  warm  welcome  to 
the  theatre  in  which  I  was  so  soon  to  act.  In 
"  Louis  XI."  Mr.  Irving  rose  to  splendid  heights, 
his  death  scene  being  one  of  the  most  terrible 
and  thrilling  pieces  of  acting  I  have  ever  seen. 
Signor  Salvini  does  Mr.  Irving  and  English-speak- 
ing artists  an  injustice  when  he  says  that  "  from 
the  time  when  passion  assumes  a  deeper  hue,  and 
reason    moderates    impulses    which    are    forcibly 


134  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

curbed,  Irving  seems  to  me  to  show  mannerism, 
to  be  lacking  in  power,  and  strained ;  and  it  is 
not  in  him  alone  I  find  this  fault,  but  in  all  foreign 
actors.  There  seems  to  be  a  limit  of  passion 
within  which  they  remain  true  in  their  rendering 
of  Nature,  but  beyond  that  limit  they  become 
transformed,  and  take  on  a  conventionality  in  their 
intonation,  exaggeration  in  their  gesture,  and  man- 
nerism in  their  bearing."  This  certainly  could 
not  be  said  with  truth  of  Irving's  Louis,  Booth's 
Richard,  Cushman's  Meg,  or  Barrett's  Cassius. 
The  performance  of  "Charles  I."  was,  I  thought, 
admirable.  Mr.  Irving  looked  as  though  he  had 
stepped  from  Van  Dyck's  canvas.  There  was 
something  weird  in  seeing  that  well-known  and 
beautiful  figure  out  of  its  frame,  moving  about 
the  stage.  Miss  Terry's  Henrietta  Maria  was  as 
charming  as  her  Portia  was  dazzling,  both  in  look 
and  manner.  "The  Silver  King"  at  the  Princess, 
with  Mr.  Wilson  Barrett's  fine  performance,  was 
so  poetically  treated  that  it  did  not  seem  like  a 
melodrama.  Everywhere  we  noticed  the  great 
care  bestowed  upon  the  productions.  I  felt  that 
I  should  never  be  able  to  mount  my  play  (I  feared 
the  theatre  would  be  closed  after  the  first  night) 
in  the  same  finished  style. 


REHEARSING   IN   LONDON  135 

On  going  to  the  Lyceum  to  arrange  the 
scenery  I  was  surprised  to  hear  that  the  stage 
would  have  to  be  "  set "  for  the  royal  box,  that 
it  was  always  done,  and  that  there  had  better  be 
no  exception  to  the  rule.  This  meant  that  the 
stage  business  would  have  to  be  altered  so  that 
those  in  the  royal  box  would  miss  no  point. 
"  But,"  said  I,  "  I  have  come  here  to  play  to  the 
English  public,  and  not  to  the  royal  box.  Besides, 
the  royalties  may  never  come  to  see  me."  This 
carried  the  day,  and  the  scene  was  set  as  it  had 
been  in  America.  The  rehearsals  soon  began, 
and,  as  a  whole,  I  found  the  company  a  superior 
one.  One  and  all  were  kind  and  helpful,  and 
anxious  to  assist  the  general  effect.  Though  my 
name  was  unknown,  they  showed  me  the  greatest 
courtesy.  It  was  surprising  to  find  that  London 
had  never  heard  of  many  of  our  prominent  Ameri- 
can actors  unless  they  had  appeared  in  England. 

Mr.  Abbey  left  the  choice  of  bill  for  the  open- 
ing nights  to  me.  Mr.  Irving  wished  me  to  take 
the  scenery  he  had  used  in  his  fine  production 
of  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  and  begin  the  season  with 
that  play.  But  I  decided  on  Parthenia,  as  being 
the  simplest  character  in  my  repertoire,  and  one 
in  which  I  could  not  challenge  comparison  with 


136  'A  FEW    MEMORIES 

any  English  favorites,  as  "  Ingomar "  had  not 
been  done  in  London  for  years.  When  all  was 
in  full  preparation  several  managers  and  critics 
assured  us  that  it  could  not  succeed,  that  its 
old-fashioned  sentiment  would  be  received  with 
laughter.  But  Mr.  Abbey  trusted  in  my  judg- 
ment, and  their  discouraging  predictions  did  not 
alter  my  choice.  At  the  dress  rehearsals  I  hardly 
recognized  the  old  piece  with  all  its  new  and 
beautiful  surroundings.  After  a  month  of  alarms, 
doubts,  and  constant  dreams  of  failure,  the  first 
night  came.  The  thought  that  I  was  about  to  ap- 
pear in  the  land  of  my  greatest  dramatic  heroine, 
Sarah  Siddons,  near  the  very  theatres  that  had 
rung  with  the  voices  of  Garrick,  silver-tongued 
Barry,  and  Edmund  Kean,  set  my  heart  beating 
so  that  I  could  hardly  stand.  The  house  was 
full,  as  is  always  the  case  on  a  first  night  at  the 
Lyceum.  After  the  applause  on  my  first  entrance 
(I  had  never  received  such  a  long  and  hearty 
greeting),  I  felt  that  the  public  of  London,  so 
dreaded  for  months  before,  had  welcomed  a 
stranger  in  the  most  friendly  spirit.  The  excite- 
ment of  the  first  scenes  had  evidently  weakened 
me,  for  in  the  second  act,  while  weaving  garlands 
for  the  golden  cups,  a  kindly  voice  from  the  pit 


FIRST-NIGHT  SUCCESS   IN   LONDON  137 

called  out :  "  Mary,  please  speak  up  a  bit !"  This 
was  said  with  such  good  feeling  that  it  put  an 
end  to  my  nervousness,  and  from  that  moment 
the  play  ran  smoothly  to  the  end.  Every  point 
was  received  with  enthusiasm,  and  even  those 
who  had  been  so  prejudiced  against  the  old- 
fashioned  sentiment  voted  it  a  great  and  instant 
success. 

Among  the  many  who  came  behind  the  scenes 
to  offer  their  congratulations  was  Mr.  P.  T. 
Barnum,  who  exclaimed,  in  his  own  hearty  way, 
"  Hurrah  for  America !  You've  won  London,  or 
I  know  nothing  of  public  taste !"  Every  one 
seemed  unaffectedly  pleased  at  the  success  of  an 
American  girl.  The  work  of  an  evening  and 
the  generous  appreciation  of  a  kind  public  had 
changed  the  darkest  apprehension  into  brightest 
hope  for  the  future. 


CHAPTER  IX 

The  Lyceum  season,  beginning  in  September, 
lasted  nearly  eight  months — a  few  weeks  for  "  In- 
gomar "  and  "  The  Lady  of  Lyons,"  and  the  re- 
maining time  for  "  Pygmalion  and  Galatea."  The 
houses  were  always  crowded  to  overflowing. 

The  comfort  of  a  cosy  room  at  the  theatre,  a 
permanent  home  to  welcome  one  after  the  night's 
work,  no  railway  journeys,  and  no  hotel  life  were 
luxuries  hitherto  unknown  in  my  stage  career. 
It  seemed  too  good  to  last. 

Our  first  home  in  London  was  in  Maida  Vale 
— a  bright,  cheerful  place,  with  high  walls  enclos- 
ing a  pretty  garden.  To  me  this  shady  nook, 
with  its  brilliant  flowers,  was  delightful.  No 
sound  of  the  outer  world  seemed  to  enter  there, 
and,  with  the  exception  of  a  distant  church- 
spire,  one  could  see  only  the  trees,  shrubs,  and 
garden  walls.  It  was  an  easy  walk  from  our  house 
to  the  Paddington  parish  church -yard,  and  we 
often  strolled  there,  before  going  to  the  Lyceum, 


THE    GRAVE  OF   MRS.  SIDDONS  139 

in  the  evening  to  place  a  few  flowers  upon  the 
neglected  grave  of  the  great  Sarah  Siddons.  It 
was  late  in  the  autumn  of  1883.  Londoners  will 
recall  the  series  of  exceptionally  fine  sunsets  of 
that  year.  The  brilliant  orange  and  crimson  in 
the  west,  a  silver  crescent  in  the  pale,  turquoise 
sky,  the  crisp,  white  snow  covering  the  ground 
and  frosting  the  large  tree  over  the  tomb  of  the 
great  actress,  the  yellow  light  of  the  lonely  lamp 
hanging  in  the  entrance  to  the  church -yard, 
seemed  to  accentuate  the  desolation  of  the  spot. 
The  grave  looked  almost  as  uncared  for  as  the 
sunken-in  earth  covering  poor  Haydon,  the  mas- 
ter of  Landseer  and  friend  of  Wordsworth  and 
Leigh  Hunt,  who  sleeps  in  a  suicide's  grave  hard 
by.  The  only  sound  to  be  heard  there  was  the 
distant  hum  of  the  city  or  the  barking  of  some 
stray  dog.  To  leave  that  sad  spot,  where  the 
greatest  of  England's  actresses  lies  forgotten,  in 
order  to  act  before  a  brilliant  and  enthusiastic 
audience,  seemed  a  mockery  to  my  poor  efforts; 
but  it  taught  me  of  how  little  value  is  the  great- 
est of  earthly  fame.  I  am  glad  to  say  that  the 
Siddons  Memorial  has  since  then  removed  the 
reproach  that  rested  on  her  lonely  grave. 

Wc  made  many  interesting  expeditions  from 


140  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

Maida  Vale  into  "  Dickens  land,"  Mr.  Laurence 
Hutton  and  Dr.  E.  B.  Martin,  who  had  exhaust- 
ively studied  the  ground,  taking  us  into  all  the 
quarters  of  London  which  the  great  novelist  had 
described  in  his  various  works.  It  was  like  a 
dream  to  find  ourselves  in  the  veritable  Old  Cu- 
riosity Shop,  and  to  be  asked  by  its  occupants  to 
take  tea  under  the  roof  that  had  sheltered  Little 
Nell  and  her  grandfather.  Snagsby's  house,  still 
occupied  by  a  law  stationer,  was  recognized  at 
once,  and  we  were  fortunate  enough  to  see  a 
"  Guster "  at  the  window.  Crook's  shop,  with 
little  Miss  Flite's  window  above ;  Tulkinghorn's 
room,  with  the  staring  Roman  on  the  ceiling, 
who  looked  down  upon  him  after  the  fatal  bullet 
of  Hortense  had  ended  his  life;  the  graveyard 
whose  muddy  steps  Little  Joe  had  kept  clean 
out  of  gratitude  to  the  stranger  who  had  been 
"  werry  good "  to  him,  and  many  other  places 
made  familiar  by  the  genius  of  Dickens  were  vis- 
ited. On  one  occasion  we  had  an  unconvention- 
ally pleasant  luncheon  at  the  old  White  Hart, 
mentioned  by  Jack  Cade  in  Shakespeare's  "  Hen- 
ry VI.,"  where  the  pretty  housemaid  in  "  Pick- 
wick "  called  down  to  Sam  Weller  to  "  'urry  up 
them  'Essians."    Another  time  we  passed  through 


WILKIE  COLLINS  141 

the  streets  where  Dr.  Johnson  had  walked,  rat- 
tling his  stick  along  the  area  railings,  return- 
ing to  touch  any  he  had  missed;  and  into  the 
gardens  where  the  Lancaster  and  York  roses 
were  plucked,  the  comparative  antiquity  of  ev- 
erything adding  a  delightful  novelty  to  all  we 
saw. 

We  soon  left  our  little  house  in  Maida  Vale  for 
a  larger  one  in  Cromwell  Road,  which,  alas !  had 
no  garden,  and  in  consequence  never  grew  dear 
to  me.  It  was  there  I  first  met  Wilkie  Collins. 
He  was  "  completely  out  of  the  world,"  to  quote 
his  own  words,  and  preferred  coming  to  us  en 
famille,  thus  enabling  us  to  have  him  quite  to 
ourselves,  and  at  his  best.  His  anecdotes  of 
Thackeray,  Dickens,  and  Charles  Rcade  were 
far  more  interesting  than  anything  we  could  have 
read  concerning  them ;  for,  in  recounting  his 
•reminiscences,  he  added  to  them  his  own  per- 
sonal magnetism.  His  description  of  Reade  lay- 
ing his  head  upon  his  shoulder  and  crying  at  the 
funeral  of  Dickens,  and  his  own  feeling  of  deso- 
lation when,  in  turn,  he,  the  last  of  the  quartette, 
stood  at  the  grave  of  Reade,  were  pathetic  in  the 
extreme.  A  great  sufferer  from  gout  in  the  eyes, 
he  was  forced  to  seek  relief  in  opium.     It  was  un- 


142  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

der  its  potent  influence,  he  told  me,  that  he  in- 
vented the  denouement  of  "  The  Moonstone."  "  I 
could  find  no  amanuensis,"  he  said,  "to  take  down 
my  dictation  uninterruptedly,  for  at  every  par- 
oxysm of  pain  they  would  invariably  stop  work 
to  come  to  my  assistance.  Finally  a  young  girl 
was  found  who  wrote  on  steadily  in  spite  of  my 
cries.  To  her  I  dictated  much  of  the  book,  the 
last  part  largely  under  the  effects  of  opium. 
When  it  was  finished  I  was  not  only  pleased 
and  astonished  at  the  finale,  but  did  not  recog- 
nize it  as  my  own."  The  effect  of  the  drug, 
though  it  soothed  the  pain,  excited  him  greatly, 
for  he  acknowledged  that  under  its  influence, 
when  going  up  to  his  room  at  night,  the  stair- 
case seemed  to  him  crowded  with  ghosts  trying 
to  push  him  down.  We  soon  grew  to  love  him 
and  to  look  forward  to  his  visits.  I  once  praised 
one  of  his  books.  "  Ah,"  he  answered,  "  I  am 
only  an  old  fellow  who  has  a  liking  for  story- 
telling, nothing  more."  All  of  his  many  letters 
in  my  possession  are  written  in  the  simple  way  in 
which  he  spoke.  I  give  several  of  them  to  illus- 
trate his  unaffected  style.  We  had  often  dis- 
cussed his  writing  a  play  for  me.  The  scenario 
of  Act  i.  was  sent,  but  finding  nothing  congenial 


LETTERS  FROM   WILKIE  COLLINS  143 

in  the  part,  I  returned  it.     The  subjoined  is  his 
answer  :* 

"90  Gloucester  Place,  Portman  Square,  W., 
"April  14///,  1885. 

"  Thank  you,  dear  Mary  Anderson,  for  your  let- 
ter. You  confirm  the  doubt  that  I  felt  when  I 
sent  you  the  sketch  of  the  first  act — only  as  a 
specimen  of  the  contemplated  play — and  you  ex- 
press so  clearly  your  ideal  of  what  the  dramatic 
work  should  be  which  will  attract  your  sympathies 
and  enable  you  to  do  yourself  justice  that  I  al- 
ready understand  what  is  wanted — and  I  am  eager 
to  consult  with  you  as  to  the  details — to  ask  hun- 
dreds of  questions  and  to  try  if  we  can  together 
meet  the  one  serious  difficulty  that  I  see— finding 
a  good  subject.  If  something  could  be  found  in 
American  history — not  connected  with  wars — / 
should  like  it  best,  because  the  dramatic  writers  of 
the  United  States  have  left  that  field  free,  and  I 
could  let  my  imagination  go  at  a  full  gallop  with- 
out the  fear  of  unintentionally  trespassing  on  the 
literary  ground  which  the  dramatists  of  Europe 
have  so  largely  occupied.     Some  suggestive  book 

*  This  and  the  following  letters  from  Mr.  Wilkic  Collins  arc  repro- 
duced in  these  pages  by  kind  permission  of  his  literary  executor,  Mr. 
A.  P.  Watt. 


144  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

to  consult  must  be  our  first  discovery,  and  we 
must  look  back  nearly  ioo  years  or  we  shall  be 
defeated  by  the  hideous  costume  of  the  beginning 
of  this  century. 

"  If  I  can  get  to  the  theatre  it  is  useless  to  say 
that  I  will  seize  the  opportunity.  But  the  weather 
is  terribly  against  me.  I  may  tell  you  (between 
ourselves)  that  the  mischief  this  time  is  a  deranged 
condition  of  the  nerves  near  the  heart,  and  a  very 
slight  cause  sets  in  action  a  terrific  pain  in  the 
chest  and  the  arms.  But  I  am  getting  stronger, 
and  the  doctor  seems  to  have  no  fear  of  the  result, 
with  one  terrible  '  if '  —  that  is  to  say,  '  if  I  am 
careful.'  Ever  thine, 

"  Wilkie  Collins. 

"  Let  me  thank  you  for  kindly  sending  the 
scenario,  which  reached  me  safely  yesterday." 

In  spite  of  the  most  intense  physical  suffering 
he  was  one  of  the  cheeriest  spirits  I  have  ever  met. 

Even  in  the  midst  of  illness  he  continued  to 
work. 

"go  Gloucester  Place,  Portman  Square,  W., 
"Wednesday,  March  wth,  1885. 

"  Dear  Mary  Anderson, — May  I  call  to-morrow 
(Thursday)  afternoon  at  3.30,  if  I  shall  not  be  in 


WILKIE  COLLINS  IS   ROMEO  145 

the  way?  Illness,  nothing  but  illness,  has  kept 
me  away.  My  heart  has  been  running  down  like 
a  clock  that  is  out  of  repair.  For  the  last  fort- 
night the  doctor  has  been  winding  me  up  again. 
He  is  getting  on  well  enough  with  his  repairs, 
but  I  have  been  (medically)  intoxicated  with  sal 
volatile  and  spirits  of  chloroform;  the  result  has 
been  a  new  idea  of  a  ghost  story.  I  am  hard  at 
work  frightening  myself,  and  trying  to  frighten 
the  British  reader. 

"  Ever  yours, 

"Wilkie  Collins." 


"  90  Gloucester  Place,  Portman  Square,  W. , 
"January  loth,  18SS. 

"  Mr.  Terriss,  dear  Mary  Anderson,  is  not 
Romeo.  I  am  Romeo — because  I  am  in  sympa- 
thy with  you.  At  the  time  when,  by  my  calcula- 
tion, you  must  have  been  writing  your  nice  little 
note,  I  was  asking  myself  at  what  time  in  the 
afternoon  I  should  be  most  likely  to  find  you  at 
home  and  disengaged  if  I  put  my  patch  on  my 
weak  eye  and  called  at  Cromwell  House.  When 
may  I  climb  the  area  railings,  with  my  umbrella 
in  one  hand  and  my  guitar  in  the  other,  and  hope 
to  see  Juliet  in  the  balcony  (well  wrapped  up)?    In 


146  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

plain  English,  will  you  choose  the  day  and  the 
hour  of  the  afternoon  when  I  shall  not  be  in  the 
way,  and  ask  your  brother  to  send  me  just  a  line, 
which  I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  obey  ?  Over 
and  over  again  I  have  thought  of  writing,  and 
have  put  it  off  in  the  hope  of  being  well  enough 
to  speak  for  myself.  At  last  there  is  nothing  the 
matter  but  weakness  and  certain  vagaries  of  the 
optic  nerves,  which  persist  in  seeing  a  pattern  of 
their  own  making,  as  black  as  black  lace,  in  this 
form: 

\H ere  follows  drawing^ 

"  It  might  be  prettier,  might  it  not  ?  I  think  it 
is  a  reptile  of  the  pre-Adamite  period. 

"With  kindest  remembrances  to  my  kind 
friends  at  home, 

"  Always  yours  affectionately, 

"  Wilkie  Collins." 

The  play  mentioned  by  Mr.  Collins  was  never 
finished,  though  in  one  of  his  later  letters  he  still 
expressed  his  usual  interest  in  the  subject.  "  I 
have  got  Bancroft's  History  of  the  United  States," 
he  said,  "  and  mean  to  try  if  I  can  find  a  hint  in 
that  long  book  which  may  suggest  something  ap- 


THE  CHARACTER  OF  GALATEA        147 

propriate  as  a  subject,  always  excluding  the  '  Puri- 
tans,'who  have  been,  in  a  literary  sense  (as  you  say 
on  the  other  side  of  our  ocean), '  played  out.' " 

Not  long  before  his  death  he  was  compelled  to 
leave  his  house  in  Portman  Square,  where  he  had 
lived  for  years.  On  this  event  he  says :  "  Since 
I  last  wrote,  my  lease  at  Gloucester  Place  has  ex- 
pired, and  my  landlord,  the  enormously  rich  Lord 
,  asked  me  such  exorbitant  terms  for  allow- 
ing me  to  continue  to  be  his  tenant  that  I  con- 
fronted the  horror  of  moving  in  my  old  age."  A 
short  time  after  this  he  died.  From  our  first 
meeting  we  were  in  constant  intercourse,  and  I 
have  nothing  but  the  sweetest  memories  of  his 
little  bent  figure  with  its  great  kind  heart. 

"  Pygmalion  and  Galatea "  ran  for  the  greater 
part  of  the  season,  preceded  by"  A  Wolf  in  Sheep's 
Clothing."  During  the  rehearsals  of  the  former 
I  was  frequently  told  that  my  reading  of  the  char- 
acter would  not  be  tolerated  by  the  London  pub- 
lic. Galatea,  the  child  of  Pygmalion's  art,  a  statue, 
come  to  life,  could  not,  it  seemed  to  me,  think, 
look,  stand,  or  speak  like  an  earthly-born  maiden; 
some  remnant  of  the  inanimate  marble  would  in- 
evitably linger  about  her,  giving  to  her  move- 
ments a  plastic  grace,  and  to  her  thoughts  and 


148  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

their  expression  a  touch  of  the  ethereal.  Mr.  Gil- 
bert did  not  agree  with  my  conception  of  the  clas- 
sic meaning  of  Galatea's  character — which  seemed 
to  me  its  strongest  and  most  effective  side — say- 
ing that  the  play  was  a  nineteenth-century  com- 
edy dressed  in  Greek  costume,  "  which,"  he  added, 
"  is  the  only  classic  thing  about  it."  I  had  under- 
taken the  part  on  condition  that  I  should  act  it 
according  to  my  own  ideas ;  and  painful  and  em- 
barrassing as  it  was  for  me  not  to  be  versatile 
enough  to  carry  out  the  brilliant  author's  wish 
that  Galatea  should  speak  certain  comic  speeches 
with  a  visible  consciousness  of  their  meaning,  I 
felt  convinced  that  my  only  hope  of  success  was 
to  stamp  every  word,  look,  tone,  and  movement 
with  that  ingenuousness  which  seemed  to  me  the 
key-note  of  her  nature.  Another  trouble  during 
the  dress  rehearsals  was  my  pose  for  the  statue. 
My  friend,  Mr.  Alma-Tadema,  had  suggested  that 
I  should  be  draped  after  some  of  those  lovely 
Tanagra  figurines ;  and  he  was  good  enough  to 
arrange  my  draperies  himself,  going  with  Mr.  Gil- 
bert into  the  stalls  to  see  the  effect.  The  author 
insisted  that  Galatea  looked  like  a  stiff  mediaeval 
saint;  so  the  Tanagra  idea  was  abandoned.  At 
the  last  full-dress  rehearsal  matters  grew  worse. 


GILBERT'S  "COMEDY  AND  TRAGEDY"  149 

Pose  after  pose  was  tried,  but  the  judges  in  front 
had  something  to  say  against  each.  I  went  to  my 
dressing-room  on  the  eventful  night  in  tears ;  but, 
dashing  them  aside,  I  resolved  to  make  my  own 
statue  in  my  own  way.  Though  it  was  already 
six  o'clock,  my  mother  bought  and  hastily  made 
the  drapery  which  was  necessary  for  the  new 
effect.  In  my  white  Greek  clothes,  with  swollen 
eyes  and  tear-stained  face,  I  worked  for  an  hour 
before  the  long  mirror,  when  suddenly  the  statue 
that  I  wanted  stood  before  me.  The  audience  re- 
ceived it  with  round  after  round  of  applause,  and 
Mr.  Gilbert  acknowledged  himself  satisfied  with 
his  new  Galatea.  This  success  I  thought  was 
deserved  not  for  any  excellence  on  my  part,  but 
because  of  the  suffering  I  had  undergone  during 
the  many  rehearsals.  When  driving  to  and  from 
the  theatre  I  had  often  envied  the  old  women 
sweeping  the  street  crossings. 

Wishing  to  discard  "A  Wolf  in  Sheep's  Cloth- 
ing" and  get  a  one-act  play  from  the  author  of 
the  "  Bab  Ballads,"  in  order  to  have  a  complete 
Gilbert  bill,  we  induced  him  to  give  us  his  power- 
ful little  piece  entitled  "  Comedy  and  Tragedy," 
which  had  not  yet  been  acted.  The  fine  speech 
of  Clarisse  describing  what  an  actor  is  did  not 


150  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

belong  to  the  play.  This  had  been  written  some 
time  before  by  Mr.  Gilbert,  who  introduced  it  into 
"  Comedy  and  Tragedy  "  with  great  effect.  The 
little  whirlwind  in  one  act  took  the  audience  by 
storm. 

The  following  letter  from  Wilkie  Collins  tells 
how  the  play  affected  him: 

"90  Gloucester  Place,  Portman  Square,  W. 

"  Dear  Miss  Anderson, — I  resist  the  tempta- 
tion to  call  to-day,  because  I  dare  not  interfere 
with  the  hours  of  rest  which  must  be  especially 
precious  to  you,  I  am  sure,  after  the  strain  laid 
on  you  by  the  exertions  of  last  night.  Let  me 
try  to  express  my  gratitude  and  the  gratitude  of 
the  ladies  who  were  with  me  on  a  later  afternoon. 
Only  let  me  have  (liberally)  two  lines.  One  line 
to  say,  I  hope  and  trust,  that  you  have  had  a  good 
night,  and  are  feeling  better  to-day;  and  one 
line  to  choose  your  own  afternoon  at  four  o'clock 
(or  later,  if  it  will  be  more  convenient)  for  letting 
me  call  and  make  the  attempt  to  tell  you  of  the 
strong  impression  that  your  acting  produced  on 
me.  I  will  only  say  now  that  the  subtlety  and 
delicacy,  the  perfect  grace  and  feeling,  of  the 
Galatea  did  not  in  the  least  prepare  me  for  the 


SENSATIONS   OF   WILKIE   COLLINS  151 

magnificent  burst  of  passion  and  power  in  the 
second  character.*  If  I  had  been  dropped  sud- 
denly into  the  box  at  the  moment  when  you  hear 
the  cry  in  the  garden,  and  had  been  taken  out  of 
it  again  a  minute  afterwards,  I  should  have  said 
to  myself,  '  I  have  seen  a  bor?i  artist'  Perhaps 
the  best  criticism  I  can  offer  will  be  to  report 
that  (during  the  last  half  of  the  piece)  my  hands 
were  as  cold  as  ice,  and  my  heart  thumped  as  if 
it  would  fly  out  of  me.  With  more  thanks  than 
I  can  express, 

"Always  truly  yours, 

"  Wilkie  Collins. 

"  P.  S. — The  fifth  of  April  is  registered  as  a 
1  Festival '  in  my  calendar." 

Those  who  have  seen  the  play  will  remember 
that  in  one  scene  Clarisse,  under  great  excitement, 
has  suddenly  to  stop  and  gain  her  composure  as 
she  hears  the  approaching  carriages  of  the  guests 
— the  Due  d'Orleans,  the  Abbe  Dubois,  and  the 
usual  crowd  of  courtiers  of  the  profligate  Regency. 
44 Hark!"  she  says,  "I  hear  the  wheels  of  their  car- 
riages."    We  obtained  the  effects  of  approaching 

*  Clarisse. 


152  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

wheels,  but,  try  as  we  would,  the  stamping  of  the 
horses'  feet  upon  the  gravel  before  Clarisse's  door 
we  could  not  manage.  At  last  a  brilliant  idea  struck 
me,  which  the  stage-manager  promptly  endorsed. 
It  was  that  we  should  have  in  a  donkey  from 
Covent  Garden  to  trot  up  and  down  behind  the 
scenes  on  the  gravel  especially  laid  for  him.  We 
were  decidedly  nervous  on  the  first  appearance  of 
our  four-footed  friend,  whose  role  was  to  coun- 
terfeit the  high-stepping  horses  of  the  brilliant 
French  court.  When  his  cue  was  given  there 
was  only  an  ominous  silence.  I  repeated  the 
word  in  a  louder  voice,  when  such  a  braying  and 
scuffling  was  heard  as  sent  the  audience  into 
roars  of  laughter.  Although  it  was  one  of  the 
most  serious  situations  of  the  play,  I  could  not 
help  joining  in  their  mirth  until  the  tears  rolled 
down  my  cheeks.  That  was  the  greatest  lesson 
I  ever  had  against  too  much  realism. 

The  success  of  the  season  continuing,  Mr. 
Abbey  offered  me  the  following  year  at  the 
Lyceum,  which  was  accepted. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  I  met  Robert 
Browning  at  a  party,  when  he  happened  to  be 
surrounded  by  many  who  were  congenial  to  him. 
He  took  me  in  to  dinner,  and  my  first  impression 


BROWNING'S  APPRECIATION  OF  TALENT  153 

of  him  was  that  he  resembled  one  of  our  old- 
school  Southern  country  gentlemen  more  than 
my  ideal  of  England's  mystic  poet.  There  was 
a  kind  of  friendly  chattiness  in  his  conversation, 
more  agreeable,  I  thought,  than  distinguished.  I 
should  have  named  any  of  the  men  at  table 
sooner  than  he  as  the  author  of  "Rabbi  Ben- 
Ezra"  and  "Pippa  Passes."  We  met  frequently 
after  that  at  the  houses  of  common  friends.  He 
was  always  at  his  best  in  the  studio  of  some 
favorite  artist.  His  fearlessly  enthusiastic  ap- 
preciation of  anything  beautiful,  whether  famous 
or  unknown,  was  one  of  his  greatest  charac- 
teristics. On  one  occasion  I  saw  him  stretch 
his  hand  across  a  luncheon-table  to  greet  a  young 
artist   who   has  since   sprung   into  fame.    "  Are 

you    Mr.  ?"  he   asked.    "Sir,  you   are    a 

genius,  and  I  am  proud  to  shake  you  by  the 
hand."  Another  instance  of  his  great  talent  of 
appreciation  was  told  me  by  himself.  "  Bulwer," 
said  he,  "asked  me  to  go  to  hear  him  read  his 
new  play,  ■  Richelieu,'  requesting  that  I  should 
take  a  blank  card  upon  which  to  write  my  criti- 
cism. On  arriving  at  the  place  of  rendezvous  I 
found  Charles  Dickens  and  Thackeray,  if  I  re- 
member rightly,  as  well  as  Macready  and  several 


154  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

others,  all  similarly  armed  with  paper  and  pencil. 
When  Bulwer  had  finished  I  immediately  handed 
him  my  card  with  'A  great  play /'  written  on  it. 
So  you  see  I  was  the  first  to  pronounce  judg- 
ment on  'Richelieu.'"  Speaking  of  "A  Blot 
in  the  'Scutcheon,"  he  asked  if  I  thought  it 
would  succeed  in  America,  as  Lawrence  Barrett 
was  then  negotiating  for  it.  I  told  him  it  ought 
to  make  an  effective  short  play.  "  I  disagree  with 
you,"  he  replied ;  "  the  theatre-going  people  of  to- 
day want  plenty  of  action  and  not  so  much  talk."  * 

Browning  was  always  charming,  often  amusing 
in  conversation,  but  personally  he  never  appealed 
to  me  as  much  as  either  Longfellow  or  Tennyson. 
Perhaps  this  was  because  I  frequently  saw  the 
last  two  in  their  own  homes,  whereas  my  ac- 
quaintance with  Browning  was  a  society  one, 
which  least  of  all  reveals  the  deep,  earnest,  or 
best  side  of  any  character. 

Count  Gleichen  informed  me,  during  the  run 
of  "  Galatea,"  that  the  Princess  of  Wales  had  ex- 
pressed a  wish  to  have  him  do  a  bust  of  me, 
for  which  he  requested  sittings.     I  was  delighted 

*  Dion  Boucicault  likewise  said,  "  Whenever  you  see  particularly  fine 
poetry  in  dramatic  work  stab  it  with  your  pencil,  or  it  will  kill  your 
play." 


SITTING  FOR  A  BUST  155 

to  give  them,  for,  in  the  several  interviews  with 
which  she  had  honored  me,  the  charming  person- 
ality, lovely  face,  and  sweet  manner  of  the  princess 
had  completely  captivated  me.  Count  Gleichen's 
studio  was  in  St.  James's  Palace,  and  the  many 
mornings  spent  there  were  a  rest  and  an  enjoy- 
ment. Though  not  considered  by  artists  to  be  in 
the  front  rank,  some  of  his  work  has  been  sin- 
cerely admired,  notably  his  bust  of  Lord  Beacons- 
field,  which  he  told  me  he  had  great  difficulty  in 
making;  for  while  sitting  to  him  the  eminent 
statesman  continually  fell  asleep,  would  awaken 
with  a  start,  converse  with  animation  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then  fall  to  nodding  again.  Artists 
often  get  their  best  effects  under  distracting  cir- 
cumstances. Though  I  did  not  fall  asleep,  and 
gave  the  count,  afterwards  Prince  Hohenlohe, 
no  apparent  trouble,  his  bust  of  me  did  not  please 
my  relations  and  friends,  and  when  exhibited  at 
the  Royal  Academy  failed  to  excite  any  partic- 
ular attention. 

I  shall  always  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  my 
profession  for  opening  to  me  the  doors  of  the  artis- 
tic and  literary  world  of  London.  What  a  charm- 
ing and  helpful  world  it  is !  Besides,  there  were 
innumerable  other  aids  to  progress  in  my  new  sur- 


I56  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

roundings:  the  British  Museum,  the  public  gal- 
leries, the  magnificent  collections  of  art  treasures 
in  the  country-houses  we  visited  from  Saturday 
till  Monday;  the  continued  opportunities  of  hear- 
ing the  best  music  well  rendered;  constant  con- 
tact with  original  minds  of  different  nations,  and, 
above  all,  ample  time  to  digest  everything  that  was 
seen,  heard,  or  felt.  Such  outward  influences 
spurred  me  on  to  renewed  efforts,  and  the  im- 
provement in  my  work,  I  was  told,  was  steady  and 
rapid. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  the  sad  death  of  the 
Duke  of  Albany  occurred.  The  remembrance  of 
that  occasion  has  always  been  most  painful  to  me. 
The  Lyceum  was  not  under  my  management  at 
the  time,  and  the  pressure  brought  to  bear  upon 
me  to  act  Galatea  on  the  night  of  the  funeral — 
my  last  appearance  that  season  —  added  to  the 
fatigue  of  many  consecutive  months  of  arduous 
work,  made  me  so  ill  and  nervous  that  my  physi- 
cian pronounced  me  unfit  to  appear.  The  theatre 
doors  were  therefore  closed  on  that  night  of  gen- 
eral mourning. 


CHAPTER  X 

After  the  season's  hard  work  we  greatly  en- 
joyed a  holiday  at  Rochester.  This  interesting 
town,  as  all  lovers  of  Dickens  know,  is  the  Cloister- 
ham  of  "  Edwin  Drood."  On  our  first  visit  to  the 
cathedral  and  its  picturesque  close  we  were  inter- 
ested to  hear  from  an  old  verger  that  Dickens  had 
drawn  many  of  the  characters  of  "Edwin  Drood" 
from  people  inhabiting  the  town.  "  Why,"  said  he, 
"I  'ave  seen  Jasper;  'e  lived  in  that  'ouse.  And 
Durdles!  I've  seen  'im  drunk  and  scolloping  hin 
and  hout  them  crypt  columns  many  a  time ;  while 
I "  (here  he  seemed  to  swell  with  pride), "  I  am 
Tope!"  Tope,  as  we  all  know,  dropped  his  "h's" 
generously.  It  was  as  curious  to  be  standing 
face  to  face  with  a  Dickens  character  as  to  take 
tea  afterwards  at  Rosa  Bud's  house. 

Watts's  sensible  charity,  "  The  Six  Travellers," 
touched  me  deeply.  It  was  pathetic  to  watch  at 
sunset  the  wayworn  men  approaching  one  by  one 
from  various  quarters,  seeking  food  and  a  night's 


158  A    FEW    MEMORIES 

shelter  in  the  clean,  cheerful  little  house  provided 
for  them  several  hundred  years  before :  six  white 
beds,  six  covers  on  the  snowy  deal  table,  six  baths 
for  the  weary  feet,  all  awaiting  with  a  seeming  wel- 
come the  homeless  wanderers  who  might  present 
themselves  at  nightfall.  It  was  doubly  sad  to  see 
those  who  exceeded  this  number  hopelessly  turn 
away.  We  were  told  by  people  in  the  town  that 
Dickens  would  often  order  excellent  dinners  from 
The  Bull  for  the  six  travellers,  and  sit  down  with 
them,  finding,  no  doubt,  among  their  number  many 
a  profitable  character-study.  We  received  much 
courtesy  from  the  occupants  of  Gad's  Hill.  The 
walls  of  the  library  were  as  Dickens  had  left 
them.  The  doors  painted  by  him  to  represent 
book-shelves  completed  in  appearance  the  tiers  of 
volumes  around  the  entire  room.  The  titles  on 
the  sham  tomes  were  likewise  of  his  own  inven- 
tion :  among  them,  "  A  History  of  the  Middling 
Ages,"  in  many  volumes ;  "  Has  a  Cat  Nine  Lives?" 
"Was  Shakespeare's  Mother's  Hair  Red?"  etc. 

From  Rochester  we  went  to  Canterbury.  It  is 
impossible  to  describe  my  first  impression  in  the 
cathedral  while  listening  to  the  great  "  Amen " 
surging  through  the  curtained  grille  of  the  choir 
and  filling  the  air  with  melody.     We  afterwards 


LONGING  FOR  RETIREMENT  159 

wandered  through  the  stately  nave  "  by  the  pale 
moonlight,"  and  it  was  even  grander  then — the 
beauties  discovered  by  day  mystified  by  the  shad- 
ows of  night,  and  around  us  that  serenity  that 
marks  the  sleep  of  centuries.  It  was  near  Can- 
terbury I  first  heard  the  skylarks,  those  "blithe 
spirits  "  that  Shelley  so  loved, "  singing  while  they 
soar,  soaring  while  they  sing."  That  fresh  country 
life  took  from  me  for  the  moment  the  memory  of 
the  glare  and  noise,  the  glitter  and  excitement  that 
had  for  so  many  years  surrounded  me.  The  old 
feeling  of  discontent  with  the  practice  of  my  art 
came  back  with  redoubled  force,  and  my  inborn 
love  of  retirement  grew  more  and  more  impera- 
tive. 

"  To  sit  on  rocks,  to  muse  o'er  flood  and  fell, 
To  slowly  trace  the  forest's  shady  scene, 
"Where  things  that  own  not  man's  dominion  dwell, 
And  mortal  foot  hath  ne'er  or  rarely  been. 

***** 

This  is  not  solitude,  'tis  but  to  hold 
Converse  with   Nature's  charms,  and  see  her  stores  un- 
rolled." 


CHAPTER   XI 

Actors  and  orators  have  pre-eminently  the  pow- 
er of  discovering  the  characteristics  of  any  audi- 
ence they  address ;  playing  upon  their  hearers  as 
a  musician  plays  upon  an  instrument,  touching 
the  chords  of  their  deepest  sympathy  and  enthusi- 
asm. I  observed  that  the  English  provincial  au- 
diences, either  through  timidity  or  self-conscious- 
ness, laughed  and  wept  in  a  very  conservative 
manner.  Between  the  large  manufacturing  towns 
of  England  and  those  of  the  United  States  there 
was  a  marked  similarity  in  the  theatre-going  pub- 
lic. The  Irish  audiences,  on  the  contrary,  gave 
full  and  often  reckless  rein  to  their  emotions,  inter- 
rupting any  point  that  pleased  them  before  it 
was  completed,  and  cheering  until  one  feared  for 
their  throats.  Nor  was  this  all;  for  after  the  most 
violent  transports  during  the  play  they  invariably 
had  energy  enough  left  to  sing  between  the  acts, 
and  applaud  that  impromptu  entertainment.  Yet 
with  all  their  indiscrimination  how  one  grew  to 


IRISH   ENTHUSIASM  161 

love  the  uncommon  kindness  of  heart  that  prompt- 
ed such  generous  appreciation  !    The  Irish  are  as 
fascinating  en  masse  as  they  are  individually — 
spontaneous,   animated,   hospitable,   and   warmly 
sympathetic.     As  an  illustration  of  their  impetu- 
osity, I  may  mention  how,  in  Dublin,  they  took 
the   horses   from  our  carriage  every  night,  and 
dragged  it  through  the  streets.     This  in  itself  is 
not  extraordinary ;  but  on  one  night  in  particular 
I  doubt  if,  outside  of  Dublin,  any  landau  ever 
held  so  many  shrieking  enthusiasts :  the  driver's 
box  occupied  by  three  or  four  of  them,  one  on 
each  of  the  carriage  steps,  dozens  pushing  it  from 
behind,  dozens  pulling  it  in  front,  the  top  literally 
swarming  with  them  ;  while  from  the  crowd  that 
rushed  after  our  strange  -  looking  vehicle   came 
deafening  cries  of  "  Hurrah  for  America !"    "  The 
Sthars  and  Sthroipes  for  iver !"  "  God  bless  our 
Mary !"  while  Mary  sat  inside,  fearfully  listening 
to  every  creak  of  the  roof,  and  expecting  it  each 
moment  to  fall  in  with  its  kind-hearted  though 
heavy -weighted   devotees.      Finally   one   of   the 
steps   lost  its  occupant  for   an   instant,   and,   no 
longer  able  to  bear  the  ever-growing  anxiety,  I 
put  my  head  out  of  the  window.    The  sight  of  the 
surging  crowd  on  all  sides  rushing  after  us  was 


162  A    FEW    MEMORIES 

alarming;  but  when  I  saw  the  squad  of  police- 
men— hired  nightly  to  keep  clear  a  passageway 
from  the  theatre  door  to  the  carriage — running 
along  with  the  throng,  I  could  not  refrain  from 
laughing.  However,  the  sounds  from  above  were 
growing  more  and  more  ominous,  and,  throwing 
aside  all  shyness,  I  cried  out  at  the  top  of  my 
voice,  "  Please  be  careful !  I  fear  the  roof  of  the 
carriage  is  breaking  in."  A  deep  and  reassuring 
voice  from  above  answered,  "  It's  all  roight,  Miss 
Anderson ;  you're  in  the  hands  of  the  Oirish  mob, 
and  they'll  protict  yer  with  thimsilves."  Some  of 
the  Dublin  students  who  were  in  the  crowd  as- 
sured us  there  was  no  cause  for  alarm,  and  we  con- 
tinued our  journey  through  the  streets  in  a  calmer 
state  of  mind. 

At  the  theatre  the  people  were  as  wilful  as  en- 
thusiastic. I  have  always  thought  it  an  inartistic 
interruption  to  take  a  "  call "  during  the  progress 
of  a  scene,  and  refused  on  one  occasion  to  respond 
to  the  clamor.  This  was  before  I  knew  that  pub- 
lic's arbitrary  ways.  Three  times  the  entire  scene 
was  repeated  by  my  colleagues  without  a  word 
being  heard,  so  vociferous  were  the  calls  for  my 
return.  Finding  that  they  refused  to  allow  the 
play  to  go  on,  I  was  compelled  to  put  my  pride  in 


UNIQUE  TOKENS  OF  APPRECIATION  163 

my  pocket  and  bow  my  acknowledgments,  thus 
stepping  out  of  the  picture  and  spoiling  the  action 
of  the  piece. 

Their  ingenuity  was  astonishing.  To  send  a 
basket  of  flowers  from  the  upper  gallery  they 
would  manage  somehow  to  attach  a  rope  from 
that  point  to  the  stage  (making  the  theatre  appear 
as  though  a  tight-rope  act  was  to  be  a  part  of  our 
performance),  and  down  this  would  slide  baskets 
filled  with  pretty  wild-flowers  and  sugar  birds.  I 
have  even  known  a  living  dove  to  be  tied  in  one 
of  these  baskets,  which  came  swinging  down  over 
the  heads  of  the  stall  occupants  amid  yells  of 
delight  from  the  gallery. 

While  travelling  through  the  provinces  we  had 
to  find  in  each  town  the  fifty  or  more  supernu- 
meraries necessary  for  our  various  productions. 
These  were  chosen  from  the  ranks ;  and  the  types 
of  lower-class  Irishmen  impersonating  the  noble 
Italian  patricians  of  the  houses  of  Montague  and 
Capulet  were  often  ridiculous.  In  the  first  act  of 
"Romeo  and  Juliet"  both  these  factions,  armed 
with  swords,  meet  in  the  street  and  engage  in  a 
desperate  fight.  At  one  of  the  rehearsals  we  ob- 
served a  rather  timid  Hibernian,  with  a  very  short 
nose  and  long  upper  lip,  who  seemed  so  alarmed 


1 64  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

at  the  possibility  of  being  hit  by  his  opponent's 
sword,  that  even  before  it  had  crossed  his  own  he 
invariably  fell  stiffly  upon  the  stage.  He  was  told 
that  he  was  not  to  drop  dead  until  he  had  been 
struck;  but  he  continued  doing  so,  and  finally, 
losing  his  head  entirely,  ran  wildly  upon  the 
stage  and  fell  before  the  fight  had  even  begun. 
The  stage  manager's  angry  "  There's  that  infernal 
corpse  again  !"  put  an  abrupt  end  to  Pat's  engage- 
ment. 

The  Edinburgh  public  is  free  from  the  indis- 
criminate enthusiasm  of  the  Irish,  and  yet  never 
falls  into  the  constraint  and  formality  of  the  pro- 
vincial English  theatre-goers.  It  was  to  me  the 
most  delightful  of  all  audiences :  always  attentive, 
breathlessly  silent  during  the  development  of  a 
situation,  waiting  not  only  until  the  climax  was 
reached,  but  until  it  was  finished,  before  bursting 
into  a  recognition  as  spontaneous  as  it  was  intel- 
ligent. They  gave  their  tears  as  generously  as 
their  laughter,  and  it  was  not  only  a  pleasure  but 
a  help  and  an  incentive  to  one's  best  efforts  to 
appear  before  them.  As  half  of  a  poem  lies  with 
the  reader,  so  half  of  an  actor's  effects  lies  with 
his  audience,  and  often  the  best  half. 

The  historic  and  romantic  interest  attached  to 


JAMES   RUSSELL  LOWELL  165 

Edinburgh,  apart  from  its  rare  beauty,  makes  it 
particularly  attractive.  We  were  invited  to 
Holyrood  Palace  by  the  then  Lord  High  Com- 
missioner, and  through  his  kindness  were  enabled 
to  wander  through  its  interesting  rooms,  so  full  of 
memories  of  Mary  Stuart  and  Rizzio,  without  the 
usual  crowd  of  tourists.  To  me  the  most  touch- 
ing of  all  the  relics  there  is  the  small  Venetian 
mirror  which  had  reflected  the  lovely  face  of 
Mary.  It  is  so  cracked  and  blurred  now  that  in 
it  one  can  hardly  see  one's  own.  Poor  Queen! 
so  tortured  in  life,  so  maligned  in  death  !  I  have 
always  found  a  keen  satisfaction  in  observing  the 
expression  of  those  who,  quitting  her  monument 
in  the  Abbey,  seemed  moved  with  pity  at  the 
memory  of  her  sufferings  and  ignominious  death ; 
while  Elizabeth,  sleeping  in  her  pomp  and  state, 
apparently  arouses  no  sympathy  from  those  who 
coldly  gaze  upon  the  hardened  features  carved 
upon  her  tomb. 

"Romeo  and  Juliet"  was  the  play  decided  on 
for  the  approaching  London  season.  It  was  at 
Mrs.  Humphry  Ward's  house  that,  meeting  James 
Russell  Lowell  for  the  first  time,  I  mentioned  to 
him  our  proposed  trip  to  Verona  in  quest  of 
sketches  and  local  data  for  that  production,  in- 


1 66  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

forming  him  that  I  had  never  been  to  Italy  before. 
"  What !"  he  exclaimed ;  "  going  into  that  glorious 
country  for  the  first  time,  and  in  the  flush  of 
youth !  I  am  selfish  enough  to  envy  you."  The 
conversation  which  followed  between  Henry  James 
and  Mr.  Lowell  made  me  all  the  more  eager  to 
start  for  the  land  of  sunshine  and  song.  Mr. 
Lowell  as  an  after-dinner  speaker  was  justly  re- 
nowned. I  had  the  privilege  of  hearing  him  once. 
It  was  at  Pembroke  College,  Cambridge,  where 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Edmund  Gosse  had  taken  me  to 
see  the  unveiling  of  Thornycroft's  beautiful  bust 
of  the  poet  Gray.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Alma  -  Tadema 
were  with  us.  We  were  a  happy  party,  and  Mr. 
Tadema's  appreciation  of  the  beauty  of  the  country 
in  its  fresh  spring  garb  made  us  see  many  charm- 
ing effects  of  light  and  color  which  otherwise 
would  have  passed  unnoticed.  The  Master  of 
Pembroke,  whose  guests  we  were  to  be  overnight, 
showed  us  several  Gray  relics,  among  them  his 
"  Common-book."  This  contained  the  poet's  ad- 
mirable drawings  of  the  various  fish  and  insects 
he  had  studied,  and  descriptions  of  them  in  his 
own  handwriting,  which  was  beautifully  clear. 
The  bust  was  placed  near  the  seat  that  Gray  had 
occupied  at  table.     Of  all  the  speeches  on  that 


VICTOR   HUGO  167 

occasion  the  eloquence  of  Lowell  impressed  me 
most.  My  pride  in  the  success  of  my  distin- 
guished countryman  caused  me  to  burst  into 
applause  at  an  inopportune  moment.  He  spoke 
with  charm  and  elegance ;  there  was  heart  in 
every  word  and  tone,  and  a  power  that  swept  his 
auditors  along  with  him.  Next  morning  at  break- 
fast I  had  the  opportunity  of  hearing  Lord  Hough- 
ton at  his  best.  I  could  hardly  believe  him  to  be 
the  same  person  I  had  conversed  with  the  after- 
noon before,  when  he  showed  a  certain  lassitude 
that  seemed  natural  to  him.  He  was  rightly 
noted  for  his  delightful  table-talk  at  the  morning 
meal.  Apart  from  a  certain  glow  of  humor  which 
colored  all  he  said,  I  was  struck  particularly  by 
the  rapidity  with  which  he  flew  from  one  subject 
to  another,  leaving  everything  he  had  touched 
complete. 

While  resting  in  Paris  before  proceeding  south- 
ward I  had  a  charming  interview  with  Victor 
Hugo  in  his  own  house.  As  the  door  opened  and 
he  entered  the  room  I  was  greatly  impressed  by 
an  atmosphere  of  power  that  seemed  to  surround 
the  short,  thick-set  man  with  stubbly  white  hair 
and  piercing  eyes.  His  welcome  was  cordial,  his 
manner  full  of  that   charm   and   courtesy  which 


1 68  A   FEW  MEMORIES 

mark  the  gentleman  of  the  old  school.  Among 
the  many  subjects  touched  upon  he  spoke  en- 
thusiastically of  "  les  belles  Am'ericaines"  whom  he 
placed  beside  "  les  Francaises"  for  grace  and  beauty. 
During  our  conversation  he  kissed  my  hand  sev- 
eral times  in  the  French  fashion,  and  I  noticed 
that  he  always  brought  it  to  his  lips,  never  stoop- 
ing to  meet  it.  I  laughingly  mentioned  this  to 
an  intimate  friend  of  his.  " A/i"  said  he,  " mon 
ami  ne  baisse  pas  la  tete  meme  pour  les  Am'eri- 
caines?  Monsieur  Hugo  kindly  asked  us  to  pro- 
long our  stay  for  a  reception  at  his  house  a  few 
nights  later,  when  he  promised  that  we  should 
meet  all  the  interesting  people  in  Paris.  But 
visions  of  Italy  rose  up  before  me,  and  I  was  not 
tempted.  He  gave  me  his  photograph,  signing 
his  name  at  the  bottom.  It  was  sad  to  see  the 
master  hand  that  had  written  "  Les  Miserables " 
shaking  so  painfully  over  his  own  signature. 

We  arrived  at  Verona  on  a  bright  Saturday 
afternoon,  when  the  quaint  streets  and  beautiful 
Adige  were  flooded  with  golden  light.  Apart 
from  its  associations  with  Juliet  and  her  Romeo, 
its  arena,  Giusti  Gardens,  Scaligeri  monument, 
beautiful  churches,  monasteries,  and  most  pictu- 
resque of  market-places,  the  old  city  has  an  irre- 


JULIET'S   TOMB  169 

sistible  atmosphere  of  romance  hanging  over  it. 
In  speaking  of  Italy  with  the  late  Lord  Tennyson 
on  our  return  I  was  delighted  to  hear  him  grow 
more  enthusiastic  over  Verona  than  over  the  other 
more  famous  and  familiar  cities  of  that  lovely 
country.  We  were  fortunate  enough  to  find  an 
excellent  Neapolitan  artist,  who  accompanied  us 
and  sketched  the  places  we  chose  for  our  forth- 
coming production.  His  vivid  studies  proved  of 
great  service.  My  one  and  only  disappointment 
was  Juliet's  tomb — a  palpably  spurious  stone  coffin, 
half  filled  with  visiting-cards  of  English  and  Amer- 
ican tourists.  These  occupied  the  place  of  poor 
Juliet,  who,  let  us  hope,  is  quietly  sleeping  in  her 
happily  unknown  grave  somewhere  in  the  Campo 
Santo.  One  expected  to  see,  if  not  the  "monu- 
ment of  pure  gold "  Shakespeare  speaks  of,  at 
least  a  worthy  sarcophagus  for  his  sweet  heroine. 
The  empty  coffin  would  in  itself  have  been  disen- 
chanting, but  when  the  names  of  Smith,  Brown, 
and  Robinson,  to  say  nothing  of  innumerable 
Tompkinses  and  Joneses,  stared  up  impertinently 
into  one's  face,  the  effect  was  intolerable. 

Claude  Melnotte's  description  of  the  "  deep  vale, 
shut  out  by  Alpine  hills  from  the  rude  world,  near 
a  clear  lake  margined  by  fruits  of  gold  and  whis- 


170  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

pering  myrtles,"  made  the  Lake  of  Como,  which 
we  next  visited,  decidedly  disappointing.  His 
rhapsodies  were  misleading  to  Pauline,  or  perhaps 
had  wrought  her  expectations  to  too  high  a  pitch. 
At  any  rate  I  found  Maggiore  far  more  beautiful. 

On  our  return  to  London  we  went  night  after 
night  to  the  different  theatres  in  quest  of  actors 
for  the  cast  of  "  Romeo  and  Juliet."  It  is  a  diffi- 
cult thing  nowadays  to  select  a  suitable  company 
for  the  legitimate  drama.  Nothing  but  pantaloon 
plays  were  to  be  seen.  However  excellent  an  ar- 
tist may  be  in  these  he  is  often  at  sea  in  costume 
parts,  where  he  has  no  trouser- pockets  for  his 
hands,  no  mantel-shelves  to  pose  against,  and  no 
cigarette  to  tide  him  over  rough  places.  It  is  a 
simple  matter  to  don  classic  or  mediaeval  clothes, 
but  not  so  easy  to  wear  them  well.  This,  how- 
ever, is  the  least  part  of  their  trouble,  for  those 
who  are  glib  with  "  By  Jove,  my  boy,"  and  the  like, 
stumble  more  hopelessly  over  their  blank-verse 
than  over  their  swords  and  flowing  draperies. 

An  extravagant  production  has  always  seemed 
to  me  to  draw  as  much  attention  from  the  acting 
as  a  shabby  one.  My  ambition  was  to  have  the 
stage  in  such  good  taste  and  balance  with  the 
play  and  epoch  as  to  attract  no  particular  notice 


SHAKESPEARE'S  VERSION  SHOULD  BE   FOLLOWED     171 

to  itself :  like  a  well-dressed  woman,  whose  clothes 
never  catch  the  eye.  Unfortunately,  little  by  lit- 
tle, and  almost  unconsciously,  I  was  led  into  a 
lavish  production  of  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  which 
caused  me  infinite  trouble,  and  took  up  so  much 
of  my  time  that  I  had  none  left  for  restudying 
my  own  part.  The  Hon.  Lewis  Wingfield  de- 
signed the  costumes,  and  Mr.  O'Connor  painted 
several  of  the  principal  scenes.  This  artist,  hav- 
ing lived  in  Verona  and  painted  many  of  its  chief 
beauties,  was  admirably  fitted  to  undertake  the 
work,  and  some  of  his  sets  were  as  beautiful  as 
anything  I  have  seen  upon  the  stage.  Before 
the  rehearsals  began  I  was  asked,  in  good  faith, 
whether  the  Irving,  Garrick,  or  Shakespeare  ver- 
sion of  the  play  would  be  followed.  This  remind- 
ed me  that  years  before  I  had  the  bad  taste  to 
present  David  Garrick's  arrangement  of  the  last 
act,  in  which  he  makes  Juliet  awaken  immediately 
after  Romeo  has  swallowed  the  fatal  draught,  and 
introduces  a  scene  between  them.  Riper  judg- 
ment, however,  taught  me  that  Shakespeare  knew 
better  when  he  made  Romeo  die  before  Juliet  re- 
covered from  the  effects  of  the  potion.  The  late 
Lord  Lytton  told  me  how  he  had  sent  his  valet  to 
see  my  performance  of  Juliet,  and  how  the  man 


172  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

had  described  his  emotions  when  he  saw  Romeo 
swallow  the  poison.  He  was  tempted,  he  said,  to 
cry  out  and  awaken  Juliet,  that  she  might  have 
one  farewell  word  with  her  lover  before  the  poi- 
son did  its  fatal  work.  It  is  extraordinary  what  a 
stage-director  Shakespeare  is.  Study  him  closely 
enough,  and  he  will  tell  even  what  "  business"  to 
use.  Besides,  his  lines  were  easier  for  me  to 
memorize  than  those  of  any  other  dramatist.  To 
learn  a  Shakespeare  part  I  generally  read  it  two 
or  three  times,  wrote  it  out  as  often,  and — it  was 
mine.  I  recall  an  amusing  discussion  between 
Professor  Max  Muller  and  a  celebrated  London 
physician  on  the  subject  of  memory.  The  former 
remarked  that  he  looked  upon  me  with  wonder, 
11  for,"  said  he  (and  here  he  pointed  to  my  fore- 
head), "  you  carry  there  so  many  of  Shakespeare's 
thoughts  and  words."  The  doctor,  overhearing 
this,  quickly  answered,  "  She  does  nothing  of  the 
kind;"  whereupon  followed  a  controversy  as  to 
where  the  words  were  lodged,  or  whether  they 
were  lodged  at  all.  In  the  end,  try  as  I  would  to 
find  from  what  part  of  my  head  they  did  come, 
I  could  not  remember  a  single  line  to  illustrate 
either  theory.  And  yet  I  have  always  been 
blessed  with  an  excellent  memory.     After  giving 


GEORGE  FREDERICK  WATTS         173 

up  Ion,  a  very  long  blank-verse  part,  for  three  or 
four  years,  I  once  rehearsed  it  from  beginning  to 
end  with  hardly  a  slip,  not  having  reread  it  during 
all  that  period. 

About  this  time  I  began  sittings  to  Mr.  G.  F. 
Watts,  who  had  expressed  a  wish  to  paint  my 
portrait.  He  is  an  admirable  talker,  and  though 
it  interrupted  the  work,  I  could  never  refrain 
from  starting  him  on  some  congenial  subject. 
This  naturally  delayed  the  progress  of  the  pict- 
ure, which  he  worked  at  off  and  on  for  five  years. 
Mr.  Gladstone  had  warned  me  that  it  might  be  so; 
"for,"  said  he,  "Watts  is  one  of  the  most  capti- 
vating conversationalists  as  well  as  one  of  the  most 
charming  characters  I  know."  I  soon  found  this 
praise  was  well  deserved.  The  rare  qualities  of 
his  mind,  the  breadth  of  his  views  on  all  subjects, 
the  natural  loftiness  of  his  thoughts  were  as  strik- 
ing as  his  great  simplicity,  large-heartedness,  and 
freedom  from  all  prejudice  and  uncharitableness. 
I  once  spoke  to  him  very  critically  of  a  painter 
then  arousing  considerable  attention  in  London, 
whose  conceptions  were  often  horrible  and  his 
treatment  of  them  morbid.  Though  he  visited 
exhibitions  very  rarely,  Mr.  Watts  made  an  expe- 
dition to  the  one  in  question.     At  our  next  meet- 


174  A   FEW    MEMORIES 

ing  I  triumphantly  asked  him  if  he  had  not  been 
shocked  by  what  he  had  seen,  and  I  commented 
upon  the  absolute  lack  of  imagination  in  every 
canvas  exhibited.  "  Some  painters  see,"  he  an- 
swered ;  "  some  feel ;  some  imagine.  The  great- 
est do  all.  This  one  certainly  sees/"  And  that 
was  the  only  criticism  he  made.  He  afterwards 
told  me  that  this  same  artist — a  foreigner — came 
to  his  studio  and  made  many  suggestions  about 
his  work.  Watts's  pictures  have  stamped  them- 
selves indelibly  upon  my  mind,  notably  the  great 
creation  in  which  he  represents  Love  as  a  rosy 
Cupid  with  radiant,  outspread  wings  of  rainbow 
hue,  and  flowers  of  gorgeous  colors  all  about  him, 
pleading  with  the  pallid  and  inflexible  figure  of 
Death  pushing  aside  the  portal  which  he  vainly 
tries  to  guard.  Admirable,  too,  is  the  conception 
of  Death,  represented  as  a  woman  of  serene  and 
majestic  beauty,  who  fulfils  her  inexorable  mission 
with  such  apparent  solicitude  as  to  rob  her  of  all 
the  terrors  which  the  conventional  and  ghastly 
figure  suggests.  To  have  given  to  the  world  an 
emblem  so  consoling  is  a  work  which  cannot  but 
inspire  the  deepest  gratitude.  This  idea  of  Death, 
as  a  friend,  came  to  the  eminent  artist  when  he 
was  desperately  ill,  and  when  the  calm,  beautiful 


WATTS'S   PERSONAL  CHARACTERISTICS  175 

figure  seemed  ever  standing  by  his  side  ready  to 
release  him  from  suffering.  His  portraits,  espe- 
cially of  men,  are  alone  enough  to  have  made  his 
fame.  It  was  his  remarkable  power  of  giving  the 
very  essence  of  the  person  painted  that  suggested 
to  Tennyson  the  following  lines  in  "Elaine": 

"As  when  a  painter,  poring  on  a  face, 
Divinely  thro'  all  hindrance  finds  the  man 
Behind  it,  and  so  paints  him  that  his  face, 
The  shape  and  color  of  a  mind*  and  life, 
Lives  for  his  children,  ever  at  its  best 
And  fullest  .     .     ." 

In  his  studio  the  "Signor,"  as  his  friends  are 
allowed  to  call  Mr.  Watts,  bears  a  striking  re- 
semblance to  the  celebrated  portrait  of  Titian. 
His  velvet  skull-cap,  white  pointed  beard  and 
dark  shining  eyes  under  bushy  brows,  white 
ruffles  about  his  wrists  and  neck,  the  latter 
always  fastened  by  a  knot  of  scarlet  ribbon,  make 
the  likeness  truly  remarkable.  Far  from  the 
rush   of   social    life,  free   from    the    struggle   for 

•  Mr. had  a  portrait  of  Lord  Tennyson.     The  poet  took  me  to 

sec  it,  and  was  visibly  pleased  at  my  not  liking  it.  "  No  wonder,"  said 
he,  pointing  to  the  portrait;  "that  man  has  neither  a  brain  nor  a  soul, 
and  I  have  both." 


176  A   FEW  MEMORIES 

money  which  eventually  mars  the  work  of  so 
many  artists,  never  taking  an  order,  thus  allowing 
his  genius  free  scope,  refusing  titles,  wealth,  and 
social  homage,  he  passes  his  days  in  the  great 
studio,  working  out  his  beautiful  dreams,  at  peace 
with  himself  and  with  the  world.  It  always 
seemed  to  me  that  the  spirit  of  some  old  master 
lived  again  in  the  earnestness  and  simplicity  of 
his  daily  life. 


CHAPTER  XII 

Long  runs,  like  most  things,  have  their  good 
as  well  as  their  bad  points.  Good,  because  con- 
stant repetition  so  identifies  one  with  the  charac- 
ter impersonated  that  it  becomes  second  nature 
to  feel  and  act  it.  Iteration  may  in  the  end  make 
one  mechanical,  but  at  least  it  insures  a  certain 
technique  which,  when  inspiration  fails,  rescues 
the  work  from  crudity.  Joseph  Jefferson  once 
told  me  that,  in  "The  Rivals,"  he  had  always 
gained  an  effect  by  pulling  off  the  fingers  of  his 
glove  separately  and  deliberately  to  accentuate 
certain  words,  but  that  under  inspiration  he 
would  throw  technique  to  the  winds,  and  have 
the  glove  off  with  one  jerk.  Who  that  has  ever 
seen  his  "Bob"  can  forget  those  brilliant  green 
gloves,  and  the  fun  he  got  out  of  them !  On  the 
other  hand,  the  evil  effects  of  long  runs  are  indis- 
putable. Prominent  among  them  is  a  general 
mental  weariness  which  often  causes  one  to  forget 
the  most  familiar  lines,  and   turn   blankly  to  the 

12 


178  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

prompter's  box  or  to  some  friendly  actor  for  the 
words.  This  happened  to  me  several  times, 
notably  in  "  The  Winter's  Tale,"  in  London, 
where,  after  playing  it  a  hundred  nights,  I  had  to 
be  prompted  in  several  of  Hermione's  great 
speeches.  Edwin  Booth,  during  the  long  run  of 
"  Hamlet "  at  his  own  theatre,  frequently  called 
for  the  lines.  An  actor  who  was  in  his  company 
told  me  that  Booth  turned  to  him  one  night,  and, 
with  a  look  of  consternation,  asked  what  he  was  to 
say  next.  His  mind  for  the  moment  had  become 
a  blank.  The  actor  gave  him  the  word.  Booth 
began  the  speech,  faltered  again,  was  prompted  a 
second  time,  but  finding  it  impossible  to  continue, 
called  out,  in  a  loud  voice,  "  Ring  down  the 
curtain !"  Many  other  examples  might  be  cited 
to  show  how  weary  the  brain  grows  after  acting 
the  same  part  six  or  seven  times  weekly  for  one 
or  two  hundred  consecutive  nights,  with  only  the 
rest  of  Sunday  to  distract  the  mind.  Another 
evil  is  that,  towards  the  end  of  a  long  run,  the 
actor  of  any  heavy  or  engrossing  part  is  likely  to 
feel  the  impersonated  character  and  its  life  slowly 
dispossessing  his  own.  During  the  hundred 
nights  of  "  Romeo  and  Juliet "  at  the  Lyceum 
Theatre  I  became  so  imbued  with  the  sufferings 


SECOND   LONDON   SEASON  BEGUN  179 

of  Juliet  that  I  continually  spoke  of  them  in  my 
sleep. 

My  second  season  in  London  began  with  "  Pyg- 
malion and  Galatea  "  and  "  Comedy  and  Tragedy," 
which  continued  until  the  heavy  production  of 
"Romeo  and  Juliet"  was  ready.  We  then  closed 
the  theatre  for  a  week  to  place  the  massive  scen- 
ery upon  the  stage ;  for  this,  as  well  as  the  com- 
pany, needed  rehearsing.  So  unwieldy  were  some 
of  the  great  "  sets "  that  on  the  night  before  the 
first  performance  we  began  a  full-dress  rehearsal 
at  seven  in  the  evening,  and  at  five  in  the  morn- 
ing Romeo  (Mr.  Terriss),  Friar  Laurence  (Mr. 
Stirling),  and  Juliet  were  still  sitting  in  the  stalls 
waiting  for  the  last  act  to  be  put  up.  After  an- 
other hour's  wait,  finding  that  it  could  not  be  got 
ready,  we  were  compelled  to  forego  the  death 
scene.  Mr.  Wingfield  kindly  promised  to  remain 
and  oversee  the  scene-shifters,  and  we  left  the  the- 
atre with  heavy  hearts,  convinced  that,  after  our 
unsuccessful  efforts,  the  play  might  run  on  until 
three  or  four  the  next  morning.  I  shall  never  for- 
get  the  drive  back  through  the  Strand  in  the  chill 
light  of  the  early  dawn,  or  my  visions  of  the  pub- 
lic leaving  the  theatre  from  sheer  weariness  and 
our  finishing  the  play  to  empty  benches  at  day- 


180  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

break.  There  seemed  no  chance  whatever  of  suc- 
cess. In  such  circumstances  sleep  was  impossi- 
ble. Already  tired  out  in  mind  and  body,  I  real- 
ized how  utterly  unfit  I  was  for  the  night's  work. 
Juliet  was  to  be  my  first  Shakespeare  character  in 
London,  and  this  made  my  position  all  the  more 
distressing.  How  I  longed  for  the  simple  scenery 
of  the  old  days,  when  the  characters  were  the  chief 
consideration,  and  the  upholsterer  and  scenic  ar- 
tist very  minor  adjuncts !  But  such  are  the  neces- 
sary worries  that  Progress  has  brought  even  to  the 
actor — Progress  which,  to  quote  what  a  man  of 
knowledge  said  to  me  not  long  since,  is  undermin- 
ing men's  brains  and  filling  the  lunatic  asylums 
with  astonishing  rapidity.  The  dreaded  evening 
arrived,  and  the  curtain  was  rung  up  before  the 
usual  crowd  of  critical  "first-nighters."  The  first 
act  went  quickly  and  smoothly,  and  was  received 
with  enthusiasm.  But  the  strain  had  been  too 
great.  After  Mrs.  Stirling  and  I  had  bowed  our 
thanks  before  the  curtain,  I  burst  into  tears,  and 
felt  I  could  not  continue  the  play.  But  the  sec- 
ond scene  was  soon  ready,  and,  still  shaking  with 
sobs,  I  was  led  to  the  balcony.  The  cue  was  giv- 
en, and  I  found  myself  again  before  the  public. 
Choking  down   my  tears,  I   assumed  a  lovelorn 


ROYAL  CONSIDERATION  181 

look,  feeling  all  the  while  that  the  audience  would 
think  Juliet  afflicted  with  St.  Vitus's  dance,  for  I 
could  not  control  the  convulsive  movements  that 
shook  my  frame.  How  was  I  to  speak  ?  If  only 
Romeo  would  be  slow,  and  give  me  time  !  The 
cue  came  all  too  soon.  With  a  supreme  effort  I 
managed  to  get  through  my  lines  with  a  steady 
voice.  The  balcony  scene  was  the  success  of  the 
play.  After  that  set  after  set  was  put  up  with  re- 
markable rapidity,  and  by  half-past  eleven  the  per- 
formance was  over  without  a  hitch.  It  seemed 
nothing  short  of  a  miracle.  The  play  ran  for  a 
hundred  nights.  We  found  the  cumbersome  scen- 
ery more  a  drawback  than  an  aid.  Mrs.  Stirling, 
that  most  perfect  of  Nurses,  was  wont  to  say,  "  Oh, 
those  toppling  columns  and  moving  churches  and 
palaces  !  They  always  make  me  feel  as  though  I 
were  in  an  earthquake."  One  night  a  long  trap 
in  the  floor  of  the  stage,  used  for  some  mechan- 
ical effects,  refused  to  close.  My  colleagues  and 
I  had  to  make  awkward  steps  over  it,  and  dared 
not  forget  it  for  an  instant  for  fear  of  a  fall  and 
broken  bones.  It  happened  that  the  Prince  and 
Princess  of  Wales  and  the  Princesses  Louise  and 
Beatrice  were  present  that  night,  and  had  from 
their  boxes  a  perfect  view  of  the  large  opening 


182  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

and  the  workmen  under  the  stage.  During  the 
interview  with  which  the  royal  party  afterwards 
honored  me  they  were  kind  enough  not  to  men- 
tion the  embarrassing  mishap,  though  it  had  ru- 
ined the  act  in  which  it  occurred. 

Seldom  during  my  stage-life  have  I  ever  been 
able  to  say  of  any  performance,  "  That  is  my  best 
work."  In  all  my  years  before  the  public  I  have 
only  once  been  satisfied  with  my  acting  of  Bianca, 
once  in  Ion,  never  in  Perdita,  and  only  once  in 
Hermione.  On  that  occasion  —  my  last  season 
in  London  —  I  remember  the  late  judge  Baron 
Huddleston,  who  seemed  to  be  able  to  read  one's 
inner  feelings,  came  back  and  said  to  me,  "You  are 
pleased  to-day.  You  may  possibly  never  act  the 
part  like  that  again.  Had  you  pleaded  before  me 
as  you  did  before  the  king,  I  should  have  wept  as 
I  have  just  done,  and  decided  in  your  favor." 

My  disappointment  at  my  own  efforts  on  the 
first  night  of  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  was  more  pain- 
ful than  any  I  had  ever  felt. 

An  actor  is  conscious  that  his  work  is  always 
judged  apart  from  circumstance;  that  nervousness, 
illness,  weariness,  and  the  many  troubles  that  beset 
life,  and  for  a  time  leave  their  shadows,  are  not 
taken  into  consideration  while  his  efforts  are  being 


DISADVANTAGES   OF   A   FIRST   NIGHT  183 

criticised.  If  his  heart  is  breaking,  he  must  con- 
ceal his  suffering  to  assume  mirth ;  and  if  his  gay- 
ety  does  not  seem  spontaneous,  his  auditors  will 
surely  put  it  down  to  bad  acting.  They  may 
never  have  seen  him  before,  and  may  never  see 
him  again;  and  so  will  always  be  under  the  im- 
pression that  he  is  incapable.  Most  artists  are, 
through  anxiety  and  nervousness,  generally  at  their 
worst  on  a  first  night ;  and  yet  it  is  then  that  judg- 
ment is  pronounced  upon  them.  Juliet  was  re- 
ceived with  far  more  enthusiasm  than  she  deserved. 
Fortunately,  applause  does  not  blind  one  to  one's 
shortcomings.  I  knew  I  had  not  entered  into  the 
character,  and  was  accordingly  unhappy  and  hu- 
miliated. I  resolved,  therefore,  to  restudy  and  re- 
model the  part.  The  result  was  that  in  a  short 
time  I  hardly  knew  my  Juliet;  and  at  the  end  of 
the  season  I  found  her  more  deserving  of  the  suc- 
cess she  received.  My  brother  Joe,  who  years  be- 
fore had  given  up  college  to  adopt  the  stage,  and 
so  be  near  me,  was  admirable  in  looks  and  acting 
as  the  fiery  Tybalt.  "That  young  fellow  might 
be  a  younger  Kemble,"  said  John  Pettie,  R.A.,  to 
William  Black,  as  Joe  came  upon  the  stage.  Mr. 
Pettie  did  not  even  know  his  name  at  the  time.  I 
had  great  pride  in  his  success. 


184  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

During  the  arduous  seasons  we  spent  our  Sun- 
days and  Mondays  in  the  country.  It  was  a  boon, 
mentally  and  physically,  to  get  out  of  town,  which 
to  me  meant  the  theatre. 

At  Brighton,  where  we  visited  our  friends  the 
William  Blacks,  the  long  walks  over  the  downs 
filled  me  with  strength  enough  to  face  another 
week ;  and  the  evenings  in  that  merry  home  gave 
me  no  time  to  think  of  work  or  worry. 

At  Stoke  Poges  the  inn  at  which  we  stopped 
was  so  small  that  it  might  have  been  spelled  "  in," 

as  Tennyson  told  me  the  only  one  at was 

described  on  the  sign  when  he  first  went  there. 
It  was  not  far  from  the  Burnham  Beeches,  and  the 
country  surrounding  it,  aside  from  its  beauty,  was 
full  of  memories  of  Gray.  Unlike  the  laughing 
brilliancy  of  the  French  and  Italian  landscape, 
there  seemed  a  veil  of  that  "white  melancholy" 
over  it  that  Gray  described  as  hanging  over  him- 
self, "which,  though  it  never  laughs  nor  even 
amounts  to  joy  or  pleasure,  is  a  good,  easy  sort  of 
state."  And  so  that  was  a  good,  easy  sort  of 
country,  with  a  tender,  sad  atmosphere  about  it 
that  suggested  the  character  of  the  poet. 

It  is  strange  that  the  generality  of  people  know 
Gray  principally  by  his  "  Elegy."    His  "  Ode  on  the 


LORD  LYTTON'S  UNPRODUCED  TRAGEDY    185 

Pleasure  arising  from  Vicissitudes,"  the  "Hymn  to 
Adversity,"  and  the  "  Ode  to  Spring  "  say  more  to 
me  than  the  celebrated  lines  written  in  a  country 
church-yard.  The  fragment  of  his  tragedy, "  Agrip- 
pina,"  has  such  a  splendid  ring  of  tragic  poetry  and 
dramatic  feeling  that  it  inspires  regret  that  he  did 
not  finish  it.  The  language  is  so  noble  and  full  of 
telling  effects  that  it  always  filled  me  with  a  wish 
to  act  it. 

"  Give  us  a  new  play!"  "  Why  not  do  something 
modern  ?"  had  been  the  cries  that  met  me  on  all 
sides  from  my  earliest  years  upon  the  stage.  I 
spoke  to  the  late  Lord  Lytton  on  the  subject 
during  my  first  season  in  London,  saying  that  I 
would  be  willing  to  meet  these  demands  if  pro- 
vided with  a  tragedy  from  his  pen.  His  extensive 
acquaintance  with  the  theatres  of  Spain,  Italy, 
France,  and  Germany,  his  intuitive  knowledge  of 
and  sympathy  with  human  passions  and  suffering, 
his  comprehension  how  these  could  be  most  effica- 
ciously used  for  dramatic  effect,  and  his  mastery  of 
the  English  language  were  rare  implements  in  his 
hands  wherewith  to  make  a  fine  play.  After  much 
discussion  he  decided  to  dramatize  "  La  Juivc." 
In  due  time  he  handed  me  one  of  the  strongest 
pieces  I  had  read  for  years,  possessing  the  rare 


186  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

combination  of  striking  situations,  literary  excel- 
lence, and  bold  character  drawing.  It  had  but  one 
weak  spot — a  serious  one — its  denouement.  As  in 
the  opera,  the  Jewess  in  this  play  met  her  death 
by  being  thrown  into  a  boiling  cauldron.  Such  an 
ending  would,  we  feared,  tempt  the  gallery  god  to 
make  irreverent  remarks  about  the  "  potted  her- 
oine." The  author  finally  resolved  on  doing  away 
with  this  means  of  execution,  and  arranged  to  use 
a  kind  of  Iron  Virgin  of  Nuremberg  in  which  to 
crush  poor  Rachel.  Unfortunately,  the  managers 
had  made  their  programme  for  the  season,  and  re- 
fused to  produce  this  work.  During  my  last  year 
upon  the  stage — having  resolved,  for  certain  finan- 
cial reasons,  to  act  one  season  more  before  retiring 
permanently  into  a  long-dreamed-of  seclusion — I 
had  meant  to  produce  "The  Foresters,"  which 
Lord  Tennyson  had  put  into  my  hands,  "  The 
Cup,"  and  the  above  play  by  Lord  Lytton. 

The  demand  for  something  new  was  caused, 
no  doubt,  by  my  acting  such  old-fashioned  dramas 
as  "  Ingomar,"  "  The  Lady  of  Lyons,"  and  "  The 
Hunchback."  The  first  two  were  successful  in 
London,  and  the  failure  of  "  The  Hunchback" 
was  due  to  my  mistake  in  trying  to  modernize 
the  character  of  Julia.     By  transforming  her  into 


As  Pauline  in  the  "  Lady  of  Lyons.'' 

From  the  Portrait  by  G.  H.  Houghton.  A.  R.  A.,  in  the  possession 

of  William  Black. 


■ 


LORD  TENNYSON  187 

a  conventional  society  woman  I  made  her  as  in- 
sipid to  the  public  as  to  myself.  After  the  first 
week  I  went  back  to  my  old  declamatory  ren- 
dering of  the  part,  having  found  that  many  of 
Knowles's  bombastic  lines  would  not  bear  nat- 
ural treatment. 

It  was  at  the  Deanery  of  Westminster  that  I 
met  Lord  Tennyson  for  the  first  time.  He  had 
a  noble  head  and  presence,  but  my  first  feeling 
was  one  of  keen  disappointment,  simply  because 
I  did  not  find  the  laureate  exactly  what  I  ex- 
pected him  to  be.  To  form  an  ideal  of  any 
person,  thing,  or  place  beforehand  is  no  doubt  a 
mistake ;  for  there  is  a  disturbing  surprise  in 
store  for  one,  even  if  the  original  surpasses  the 
ideal. 

The  poet's  manner  at  first  struck  many  as 
gruff.  I  felt  it  so  then ;  though,  on  knowing  him 
better,  I  found  him  one  of  the  kindest  and  most 
sympathetic  natures.  He  did  not  come  into  the 
drawing-room  after  luncheon,  for  his  pipe  seemed 
a  necessity  to  him  on  all  occasions.  He  sent  for 
me  before  I  left,  and  during  our  tctc-a-tcte  his 
manner  had  so  changed  as  to  lead  me  to  believe 
that  his  former  brusqueness  was  only  due  to  shy- 
ness.    Mrs.  Gladstone  was  of   the  party.     Most 


1 88  A    FEW   MEMORIES 

of  those   present   kissed  the   bard's  hand  as  he 
passed  them. 

It  was  at  a  breakfast  at  his  house  in  Downing 
Street  that  I  first  met  Mr.  Gladstone,  then  Prime 
Minister.  As  he  came  across  the  room  with  his 
hands  stretched  out  in  greeting,  I  could  not  be- 
lieve that  the  fine  countenance  and  magnificent 
eyes  were  the  same  I  had  seen  in  the  numerous 
photographs  and  portraits  of  the  eminent  states- 
man. There  was  a  youthfulness  in  the  face  and 
a  fire  in  the  eyes  that  none  of  them  suggested, 
while  the  expression  was  varying  and  sympathetic. 
Without  an  atom  of  self-consciousness,  his  sim- 
plicity and  charm  have  forced  even  his  political 
opponents  to  admit  that  "  he  can  be  delightful 
socially."  His  versatility  in  conversation  was  re- 
markable. He  handled  every  subject  with  an 
ease  born  of  deep  knowledge.  At  breakfast  I 
had  the  pleasure  of  sitting  between  him  and  the 
late  Lord  Granville.  Mr.  Gladstone  was  speak- 
ing amusingly  of  toys,  contrasting  the  quaint  and 
simple  ones  of  his  childhood  with  the  intricate 
and  wonderful  playthings  of  to-day,  when,  to  the 
horror  of  all,  a  loud  explosion  was  heard  which 
seemed  to  be  in  the  house.  Happening  at  a  time 
when  dynamite  was  being  freely  used  in  London, 


GLADSTONE'S  IMPERTURBABILITY  189 

and  Victoria  Station  had  already  been  partially 
demolished  by  a  bomb,  its  effect  was  naturally 
terrifying.  Mr.  Gladstone  was  the  only  one  of 
the  party  who  did  not  show  the  slightest  sign  of 
fear,  and  went  to  the  scene  of  the  explosion  at 
once.  We  soon  learned  that  an  attempt  had  been 
made  to  blow  up  the  Admiralty  near  by.  On  his 
return  Mr.  Gladstone,  after  expressing  indigna- 
tion at  the  cowardice  of  such  proceedings,  said 
nothing  further  on  the  subject.  A  few  moments 
later  he  was  helping  me  with  my  wrap,  which  he 
put  on  upsidedown,  making  amusing  remarks 
about  ladies'  cloaks  in  general  and  mine  in  par- 
ticular. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

The  Boltons,  where  we  next  lived,  is,  to  me,  one 
of  the  prettiest  parts  of  London.  There  is  a  peace 
about  the  square,  with  its  little  church,  around 
which  the  houses  circle,  that  makes  the  town  seem 
very  far  away,  and  enables  one  to  play  at  being  in 
the  country.  Jenny  Lind  (Madame  Goldschmidt) 
lived  a  few  doors  from  us,  and  that  charming 
woman  and  artist,  Madame  Albani,  across  the 
square.  However,  "  make  believe  "  as  one  would, 
The  Boltons  was  not  quite  the  country,  and  in 
our  first  spare  weeks  we  hurried  away  to  Winder- 
mere's beautiful  hills  and  glades.  From  our  lit- 
tle cottage  in  the  Kirkstone  Pass  we  frequently 
walked  to  Ambleside  and  Rydall ;  stopping  at 
Grasmere,  lingering  in  its  church-yard  to  read 
some  favorite  poem  by  Wordsworth  while  sitting 
at  his  grave ;  rowing  on  the  lake  where  memories 
of  poor  Shelley  crowded  upon  us ;  then  on  again 
to  Ravenscrag,  halting  for  a  moment  at  the  Kes- 


WORDSWORTH,  COLERIDGE,  AND   SOUTHEY        191 

wick*  parish  church  to  pay  a  passing  tribute  to 
Southey's  tomb,  arriving  at  Derwentwater  whole- 
somely tired  after  a  long  day's  walk.  On  our  first 
visit  to  this,  the  most  beautiful  of  England's  lakes, 
my  brother  and  I  found  that,  in  our  usual  care- 
less way,  we  had  arrived  with  insufficient  means 
to  pay  our  hotel  expenses.  The  necessary  articles 
for  our  night's  stay  we  carried  on  our  shoulders, 
and  we  had  literally  nothing  else  to  offer.  Our 
dilemma  was  serious.  The  next  morning  my 
brother  began  nervously  to  explain  our  difficulty 
to  the  landlord,  when,  to  his  intense  relief,  that 
personage  remarked,  "  Too  happy,  sir,  to  have 
Miss  Anderson  here ;  you  can  pay  whenever  you 
like."  My  profession  has  helped  me  out  of  many 
emergencies  of  this  kind,  for  I  have  never  been 
known  to  have  the  necessary  penny  about  me. 
John  T.  Raymond  used  to  say  that  a  well-known 
actor  has  always  a  strong  hold  upon  those  who 
have  seen  him  upon  the  stage,  which  "  gets  him 


*  The  old  sexton  there  was  so  pleased  with  our  interest  in  the  poet  and 
the  place  that  he  became  communicative.  His  father,  he  said,  had  lived 
in  Southey's  house  as  a  domestic,  and  as  a  lad  he  himself  had  seen  Words- 
worth, Coleridge,  and  Southey  all  sitting  together  in  that  same  church. 
Coleridge  was  the  one  he  liked  best.  "He  always  had  a  smile  even  for 
the  likes  of  me.     Wordsworth,  he  was  preachy." 


192  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

in  ahead  of  most  individuals."  He  enjoyed  tell- 
ing how  he  was  once  at  the  end  of  a  long  line  of 
Senators  waiting,  like  himself,  to  get  at  the  desk  of 
a  certain  Washington  hotel  to  engage  their  rooms. 
One  of  the  clerks  who  had  seen  him  as  Colonel 
Sellers  winked,  quietly  beckoned,  and  at  once  led 
him  to  one  of  the  best  apartments  in  the  house, 
while  the  weighty  makers  of  the  law  had  patiently 
to  await  their  respective  turns.  The  actor  has  un- 
doubtedly the  advantage  over  most  people,  for  those 
who  have  laughed  and  cried  with  him  feel  a  cer- 
tain intimacy,  though  they  may  not  know  him  per- 
sonally. John  McCullough  told  me  he  had  fre- 
quently been  accosted  in  public  places  with  "  How 
are  you,  John  ?  Come  and  have  a  drink,"  from  per- 
sons he  had  never  seen  before,  who,  when  he  in- 
formed them  in  dignified  tones  that  he  knew  them 
not,  readily  answered,  "Ah!  but  I  know  you/  I 
saw  you  play  Virginius  last  night;  so  do  come  along 
and  have  a  drink."  This  feeling  of  friendliness  on 
the  part  of  strangers  is  often  complimentary  and 
convenient,  but  more  frequently  it  is  embarrassing 
and  annoying.  I  have  had  people  bolt  into  my 
private  sitting  or  dining  room  on  the  pretext  of 
wishing  to  buy  tickets  for  the  theatre,  or  my  pho- 
tograph.    I  remember  two  well-dressed  women,  to 


DIFFERENCES  IN   CHARACTERS  193 

all  appearances  ladies,  boldly  entering  the  room 
while  I  was  at  breakfast,  seating  themselves,  and 
calmly  requesting  me  to  continue  my  meal.  Their 
sole  excuse  for  their  cool  invasion  and  rude  ques- 
tions was  that  they  had  seen  me  as  Galatea  the 
night  before,  and  wished  to  know  how  I  looked 
off  the  stage.  One  night  my  maid  had  to  return 
unexpectedly  from  the  theatre  for  something  she 
had  left  at  the  hotel.  She  found  my  room  filled 
with  young  ladies,  who,  having  bribed  the  cham- 
bermaid to  open  the  door  with  her  key,  were  rum- 
maging about  among  my  effects.  Their  embar- 
rassment on  being  discovered  was,  I  think,  a  suffi- 
cient punishment  for  their  idle  curiosity.  Indeed, 
the  number  of  such  impertinences  that  well-known 
actors  are  subjected  to  is  beyond  credence. 

During  one  of  our  visits  to  Stratford  Mr.  Flower 
took  me  over  the  Memorial  Theatre,  and  requested 
that  I  should  act  there.  I  liked  the  idea,  resolved 
to  do  so,  and  soon  began  to  study  the  part  of 
Rosalind  for  the  purpose.  To  make  one's  self  ac- 
quainted with  a  character,  the  chief  difficulty  lies, 
not  in  memorizing  the  lines,  but  in  determining 
by  the  closest  study  how  different  characters  act 
in  situations  common  to  all.  Rosalind  may  be 
madly  in  love  with  Orlando,  yet  she  can  jest,  be 

»3 


194  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

merry,  and  have  a  mock  marriage;  while  the 
gentle  Imogen  under  the  same  conditions  would 
droop  and  fade  away.  Desdemona  may  be  sep- 
arated from  her  love,  yet  she  does  not  fret  nor 
mourn  at  his  absence.  Absence  to  Juliet  is 
death.*  Queen  Constance  goes  mad,  raves,  and 
tears  her  hair  at  the  loss  of  her  son.  Hermione, 
on  hearing  of  the  death  of  Mamillius,  swoons  like 
one  dead,  revives,  and  after  living  for  sixteen 
years  away  from  those  she  loves  best,  suddenly 
comes  back  into  their  midst  without  any  outward 
sign  of  great  emotion.  These  are  all  noble  wom- 
en, to  whom  their  love  is  their  life ;  and  yet  how 
differently  each  expresses  what  she  feels!  Fort- 
unately, Shakespeare  gives  a  key-note  to  the 
nature  of  most  of  his  characters.  For  instance, 
Hermione,  when  accused  by  her  husband,  bears 
herself  with  quiet  dignity,  though  wounded  irrep- 
arably in  her  deepest  affection. 

*  How  clearly  Juliet  shows   this   in   the   following  lines !  (Act  iii. 
scene  ii.): 

"Tybalt  is  dead  and  Romeo — banished; 
That — banished,  that  one  word — banished, 
Hath  slain  ten  thousand  Tybalts. 


Romeo  is  banished — to  speak  that  word 
Is  father,  mother,  Tybalt,  Romeo,  Juliet, 
All  slain,  all  dead." 


HERMIONE  AND  JULIET  195 

"Good  my  lords," 

she  says  (turning  to  the  nobles  for  justification), 

"  I  am  not  prone  to  weeping,  as  our  sex 
Commonly  are ;  the  want  of  which  vain  dew, 
Perchance,  shall  dry  your  pities ;  but. I  have 
That  honorable  grief  lodged  here  which  burns 
Worse  than  tears  drown." 

Again,  under  the  brutal  treatment  of  the  king, 
she  says : 

"  I  must  be  patient  till  the  heavens  look 
With  an  aspect  more  favorable." 

This  speech  shows  Hermione  to  be  a  woman  of 
great  self-control  and  dignity,  even  in  the  most 
terrible  situation  conceivable,  and  was  my  clew 
to  her  character.  Such  a  creature  would  be  in- 
capable of  unbridled  excitement  or  violently  ex- 
pressed emotion  even  under  the  greatest  pressure. 
Many,  I  believe,  did  not  sympathize  with  my  out- 
ward calmness  in  .  the  accusation  scene ;  but  I 
resolved  not  to  give  up  my  conception  of  the 
master's  text  for  any  stage  effect.  The  common 
belief  that  Juliet  is  merely  a  sentimental  love- 
lorn maiden  seems  to  me  fallacious.  From  the 
moment  she  loves  Romeo,  Juliet  becomes,  in  my 
humble  opinion,  a  woman  capable  of  heroic  action 


196  A    FEW   MEMORIES 

in  all  that  concerns  her  love.     The  essence  of  her 

nature  comes  out   so   strongly  in  the  following 

lines  that  I  modelled  her  character  upon  them. 

She  is  already  married  to  Romeo,  and  her  union 

with  Paris  has  been  arranged  by  her  parents  to 

take  place  on  the  morrow.     In  despair  she  goes 

to  her  friend  Friar  Laurence  for  counsel.     "If," 

she  says, 

"in  thy  wisdom  thou  canst  give  no  help, 
Do  thou  but  call  my  resolution  wise, 
And  with  this  knife  I'll  help  it  presently. 
God  joined  my  heart  with  Romeo's,  thou  our  hands ; 
And  ere  this  hand,  by  thee  to  Romeo  sealed, 
Shall  be  the  label  to  another  deed, 
Or  my  true  heart  with  treacherous  revolt 
Turn  to  another,  this  shall  slay  them  both : 
Therefore  out  of  thy  long-experienced  time 
Give  me  some  present  counsel ;  or,  behold, 
'Twixt  my  extremes  and  me  this  bloody  knife 
Shall  play  the  umpire." 

Of  course  some  natures  are  inconsistent,  and 
must  be  dealt  with  accordingly.  The  develop- 
ment of  these  various  types,  with  their  natural 
personality,  mannerisms,  etc.,  is  a  most  engrossing 
study.  How  would  such  a  man  or  woman  weep 
under  given  circumstances  ?  Would  he  or  she 
weep  at  all  ?  And  so  in  joy  as  well  as  sorrow, 
under  the  influence  of  every  emotion,  they  have 
their  individual  way  of  doing  everything.      The 


ROSALIND   AT  SHAKESPEARE'S   BIRTHPLACE      197 

art  is  to  make  the  character  harmonious  from 
beginning  to  end ;  and  the  greatest  actor  is 
he  who  loses  his  own  personality  in  that  of  his 
role. 

I  played  Rosalind  for  the  first  time  in  the 
Memorial  Theatre  at  Stratford-on-Avon  for  the 
benefit  of  that  building.  Through  Mr.  Flower's 
kindness  the  whole  atmosphere  on  that  occasion 
was  thoroughly  Shakespearian.  The  stage  was 
decorated  with  blossoms  from  Shakespeare's  gar- 
den; the  flowers  used  by  Rosalind  and  Celia,  as 
well  as  the  turnip  gnawed  by  Audrey,  had  been 
plucked  near  Anne  Hathaway 's  cottage ;  the  deer 
carried  across  the  stage  in  the  hunting  chorus 
had  been  shot  in  Charlcot  Park  for  the  occasion 
— so  I  was  told — by  one  of  the  Lucys. 

While  dressing  I  heard  a  splash  of  oars,  and 
saw  groups  of  the  audience  arriving  in  boats. 
The  shining  Avon  under  my  window,  the  fields 
and  waving  willows  beyond,  and  the  picturesque 
church  near  by,  are  all  a  part  of  that  first  perform- 
ance. Rosalind's  glee  and  sparkle,  her  wholc- 
someness  and  good-nature,  with  just  a  touch  of 
tender  sadness  here  and  there,  appealed  to  me 
so  strongly  that  for  a  time  I  wished  to  act  noth- 
ing else.     I  give  Mr.  William  Winter's  account  of 


198  A    FEW    MEMORIES 

the  reception  of  the  play  at  Shakespeare's  birth- 
place.* 

"...  When,  therefore,  it  was  made  known  that 
Miss  Anderson  would  enact  Rosalind  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life,  and  at  Stratford-on-Avon, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  Shakespeare  Memorial 
Theatre,  it  was  natural  that  a  wave  of  excitement, 
to  which  even  mighty  London  gave  an  impetus, 
should  soon  surge  around  this  usually  peace- 
ful haven  of  Shakespearian  pilgrimage.  Such  a 
wave  I  found  here;  and  until  to-day — when  all  is 
over  and  the  actors  are  gone,  and  the  represent- 
atives of  the  London  press  have  returned  to  the 
capital,  and  the  crowd  has  dispersed — Stratford 
has  not  seemed  in  the  least  like  itself.  Now  it 
is  once  more  as  silent  as  a  cloister  and  as  slum- 
berous as  the  bower  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty  in  the 
wood.  But  from  this  time  it  will  possess  a  new 
charm  for  the  American  pilgrim — being  associated 
henceforth  with  the  presence  of  the  authentic 
queen  of  the  American  stage. 

"  The  Shakespeare  Memorial  Theatre  will  hold 
nearly  seven  hundred  persons.  Its  reserved 
portion  contains  four  hundred  and  eighty  seats. 
All  of  these  were  sold  within  an  hour  and  a  half 

*  "  The  Stage  Life  of  Mary  Anderson,"  by  William  Winter. 


STRATFORD  NEVER  WAS  GAYER        199 

of  the  opening  of  the  box-office  on  August  25th. 
Miss  Anderson  came  down  on  the  27th  with  her 
company,  and  rested  at  the  Red  Horse,  and  thus 
she  was  enabled  to  devote  two  evenings  pre- 
cedent to  the  performance  to  a  dress  rehearsal  of 
the  comedy.  Many  social  attentions  were  offered 
to  her.  Under  the  escort  of  the  Mayor  of  Strat- 
ford she  visited  Clopton  House — a  picturesque 
and  famous  old  place,  the  former  residence  of 
Sir  Hugh  Clopton,  who  was  a  Lord  Mayor  of 
London  in  1492,  reign  of  Henry  VII.,  and  who 
built  the  great  bridge  that  still  spans  the  Avon 
on  the  Oxford  high-road.  She  was  seen  also  at 
the  Shakespeare  birthplace  in  Henley  Street, 
where  the  Misses  Chataway  welcomed  her  as  an 
old  friend.  But  for  the  most  part  she  remained 
in  seclusion,  awaiting  what  was  felt  to  be  a 
serious  professional  ordeal.  All  about  the  town, 
meanwhile,  her  professional  associates  dispersed 
themselves,  to  view  the  relics  of  the  great  poet 
and  to  'fleet  the  time  merrily,  as  they  did  in  the 
golden  age.'  Stratford  can  seldom  have  been  as 
gay  as  it  was  during  these  two  or  three  days; 
never  surely  was  it  gayer.  From  London  came 
down  a  large  deputation  of  journalists.  The 
trains  brought  many  an  eager  throng  from  the 


200  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

teeming  hotels  of  sprightly  Leamington.  One 
party  of  twenty-five  Americans  came  in  from  the 
sylvan  hamlet  of  Broadway.  Visitors  to  Trinity 
Church  found  that  flowers  had  been  scattered 
upon  the  gravestone  of  Shakespeare  and  upon 
the  slabs  that  cover  the  dust  of  his  wife  and 
daughter.  When  the  day  of  the  performance 
came  a  bright  sun  and  a  soft  breeze  made  the  old 
town  brilliant  and  balmy,  and  but  for  the  falling 
leaves  and  the  bare  aspect  of  field  and  meadow 
there  was  no  hint  that  summer  had  passed.  A 
more  distinguished  or  a  more  judicious  audience 
than  was  assembled  in  the  Memorial  Theatre 
could  not  be  wished,  and  has  not  often  been  seen. 
Mr.  Forbes  Robertson,  an  intellectual  and  grace- 
ful actor,  thoughtful  in  spirit  and  polished  in 
method,  began  the  performance,  coming  on  as 
Orlando.  No  performer  other  than  Miss  An- 
derson, however,  could  expect  to  attract  espe- 
cial notice  on  this  night.  It  was  for  her  that 
the  audience  reserved  its  enthusiasm,  and  this, 
when  at  length  she  appeared  as  Rosalind,  burst 
forth  in  vociferous  plaudits  and  cheers,  so  that  it 
was  long  before  the  familiar  voice,  so  copious, 
resonant,  and  tender,  rolled  out  its  music  upon 
the  eager  throng  and  her  action  could  proceed. 


f 


A  STORY  OF  AN  AUTOGRAPH   HUNTER  201 

Before  the  night  ended  she  was  continually 
cheered  with  a  warmth  of  enthusiasm  unusual  in 
this  country." 

An  amusing  coincidence  occurred  at  Leeds, 
where  we  proceeded  after  leaving  Stratford.  A 
few  weeks  before,  at  the  house  of  Mr.  William 
Black,  the  autograph  hunter  was  being  discussed 
and  roundly  abused,  for  all  present  were  public 
persons.  The  best  story  on  the  subject  was  told 
by  Mr.  Black  of  a  certain  friend  of  his  who,  as  a 
youth,  made  a  practice  of  seeking  the  signatures 
of  distinguished  persons.  Again  and  again  he  re- 
quested Carlyle,  Beaconsfield,  and  other  eminent 
men  for  their  autographs,  but  in  vain.  Finally  he 
hit  upon  a  stratagem  worthy  of  Machiavelli.  He 
wrote  to  each  of  the  most  obdurate  of  the  great 
ones  that  he  had  a  fine  yacht  which  he  wished  to 
name  after  him.  By  return  post  he  had  affirm- 
ative autographic  answers  from  them  all,  the 
Chelsea  sage  going  so  far  as  to  wish  "  that  the 
Thomas  Carlyle  might  sail  ever  under  blue  skies 
and  on  smooth  waters."  While  in  Leeds  we 
were  driving  one  day  with  Sir  W.  R.  Again 
the  subject  of  autographs  came  up.  I  related 
the  story,  and  was  surprised  that  Sir  W.  did 
not   seem    amused.      When    I    had    finished    he 


202  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

simply  said,  "  Perhaps  it's  you  who  will  be  aston- 
ished when  I  tell  you  that  I  was  the  boy  who 
lied  so  successfully."  And  I  had  been  handling 
autograph  hunters  unmercifully  to  this  archfiend 
among  them !  Though  understanding  the  de- 
sire to  possess  characteristic  letters  from  favorite 
and  illustrious  persons,  I  cannot  comprehend  the 
prevalent  wish  for  a  mere  signature.  Usually 
the  autograph  seeker  sends  with  his  request  a 
stamped  and  addressed  envelope.  This  is  the 
least  troublesome  attack.  When,  however,  they 
invade  one's  peace  with  handsomely  bound  books 
filled  with  prominent  names,  stating  the  value  of 
the  same,  and  requesting  poetic  quotations  and 
an  immediate  return  of  the  volumes  by  registered 
post,  their  bombardment  assumes  a  more  serious 
aspect.  I  have  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  have 
several  such  books  lying  on  my  table  at  a  time, 
their  addresses  lost,  and  in  despair  of  ever  get- 
ting them  back  to  their  respective  owners.  A 
great  poet  once  told  me  that  he  always  refused 
to  write  his  name,  and  felt  no  compunction  in 
applying  the  stamps  sent  him  to  charitable  pur- 
poses. 

At  Birmingham  I  had  the  privilege  of  meeting 
Cardinal  Newman.     His  noble  head,  as  seen   in 


CARDINAL   NEWMAN  203 

his  various  portraits,  led  one  to  suppose  His  Emi- 
nence a  man  of  large  build.  I  was  surprised  to 
find  him  very  small  and  fragile.  No  picture  of 
him  gives  the  spiritual  beauty  of  his  face.  His 
thick  hair  was  so  white  that  it  looked  as  if  some 
snowy  powder  had  been  thrown  over  it.  His  eyes 
were  light  in  color,  small  and  full  of  expression. 
When  he  smiled  they  had  the  youthful  look  of 
a  boy  of  ten.  His  manner  was  pleasant,  though 
not  so  winning  or  courtly  as  that  of  Cardinal 
Manning,  who  might  have  been  a  prince  in  the 
most  brilliant  of  courts.  Cardinal  Newman  had 
more  of  the  reserve  of  the  student  about  him. 
During  our  first  interview  he  startled  me  by  say- 
ing, "  So  you  go  as  far  as  a  young  lady  can  go — 
as  far  West,  I  mean,"  he  explained  in  answer  to 
my  look  of  surprise.  "  I  believe  you  were  born  in 
California."  The  youthful  twinkle  in  his  eyes  was 
so  irresistible  that  I  laughed  heartily.  I  can  still 
see  his  slight,  almost  shrivelled  figure,  clad  in  a 
black-and-red  cassock,  and  the  beautiful  head  and 
snowy  hair  with  the  scarlet  skull-cap.  There  was 
such  a  marked  character  about  him  that  even  a 
passing  glance  in  a  crowd  would  have  stamped 
his  personality  upon  one's  memory.  The  kind- 
ness of  his  heart,  as  well  as  his  forgetfulness  of  the 


204  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

flight  of  time  in  his  life  of  thought,  are  well  illus- 
trated by  the  following  anecdote  told  me  by  Miss 
B.  Her  father  had  come  over  to  the  Church  with 
Dr.  Newman.  A  strong  friendship  existed  be- 
tween them.  One  of  Miss  B.'s  sisters  married 
and  had  a  child.  In  his  visits  to  the  family 
Cardinal  Newman  never  forgot  to  bring  the  little 
one  a  plaything  of  some  kind.  The  mother,  with 
her  child,  was  called  away  to  India  to  join  her 
husband,  who  was  stationed  there.  Many  years 
passed.  She  died,  and  her  daughter,  then  a 
young  lady  of  sixteen,  came  back  to  England  to 
stop  with  her  aunt,  Miss  B.  The  latter  had  in- 
formed the  cardinal  of  the  girl's  return ;  and 
when  he  next  came  to  town  they  were  astonished 
and  touched  to  see  him  arrive  with  his  pockets,  as 
of  old,  filled  with  toys.  He  had  forgotten  the 
lapse  of  years,  and  only  remembered  with  beauti- 
ful fidelity  the  old  custom. 

The  number  of  plays  submitted  to  artists  is 
incredible.  Generally  they  are  absolutely  un- 
suited  to  the  person  who  is  requested  to  read, 
and,  if  possible,  produce  them.  Among  the  very 
few  good  ones  I  have  received  was  one  written 
for  me  by  Mrs.  Craik  (Miss  Mulock).  The  period 
she  chose  was  that  of  the  Diocletian  persecutions, 


MISS   MULOCK  205 

and  her  heroine  was  a  young  girl  who  suffers 
martyrdom  rather  than  give  up  her  faith.  The 
subject  and  its  treatment  were  alike  charmingly 
poetical.  The  arena  scene  at  the  end  unfortunate- 
ly made  it  impracticable  for  stage  purposes.  I 
regretted  this  deeply  for  many  reasons.  I  had 
always  felt  a  great  admiration  and  gratitude  to 
Miss  Mulock  since  my  early  youth,  when  her 
"  John  Halifax,  Gentleman,"  had  shown  me  a  new 
and  serious  side  of  life,  which  visibly  affected  my 
growing  character.  The  loftiness  of  her  nature 
and  aims  was  as  clearly  shown  in  her  countenance 
as  in  her  writing.  To  me  her  face  and  its  ex- 
pression  were  beautiful.  Her  complexion  was 
clear  and  unfurrowed,  her  eyes  large  and  blue, 
and  her  hair  silvery  and  abundant.  Over  her 
head,  in  lieu  of  the  conventional  and  ugly  white 
cap,  she  wore  a  piece  of  rich  old  lace,  which 
fell  gracefully  about  her  neck  and  shoulders. 
Her  tall  figure  was  striking  in  its  simple  bodice 
and  ample  skirt  of  black  silk  or  velvet.  Madame 
Antoinette  Sterling,  whose  fine,  organ-like  voice 
has  given  so  much  pleasure  to  all  classes,  had 
introduced  me  to  this  rare  woman  when  first  I 
went  to  London,  and  together  we  visited  her  in 
her  Kentish  home.     It  was  in  the  spring,  and  in 


206  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

her  invitation  she  promised  us  "a  time  with  the 
primroses  and  nightingales."  And,  indeed,  the 
woods  looked  as  though  they  were  carpeted  with 
delicate  yellow  velvet,  so  thick  were  these  most 
lovely  wild  flowers,  while  the  air  was  alive  with 
the  song  of  the  nightingale.  We  did  not  meet 
frequently,  but  always  greeted  each  other  as 
friends.  She  used  to  say  that  our  work  had 
made  us  such.  Her  sudden  death  was  a  shock 
and  grief  to  all  who  had  come  into  her  gentle 
presence.  She  had  been  to  the  theatre  but  a 
week  or  two  before  she  died,  and  the  last  thing 
she  ever  wrote  for  publication  was  her  article  on 
the  play  she  then  saw — our  production  of  "  The 
Winter's  Tale  "  in  London. 

After  a  very  successful  fortnight  in  Edinburgh 
and  Glasgow  we  ended  our  tour  at  Dublin. 
Among  my  pleasant  souvenirs  of  that  visit  is  the 
courtesy  shown  us  by  the  Prince  and  Princess 
Edward  Saxe-Weimar.  The  public  was  kinder 
than  ever.  After  dragging  our  carriage  through 
the  streets,  some  thousands  of  warm-hearted 
Irishmen  assembled  under  my  window  and  sang 
"  Come  back  to  Erin,  mavourneen,  mavourneen." 
After  the  song  they  remained  in  front  of  the 
hotel   until    I   appeared   upon   the    balcony   and 


HOMEWARD   BOUND  207 

waved  them  a  last  farewell,  amid  cries  of  "  Don't 
stay  long !"  "  Come  back  soon !"  The  next 
morning  we  sailed  from  Queenstown  to  see  home 
again  after  an  absence  of  two  years. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Many  actors,  after  the  first  glamour  of  the  stage 
life  has  worn  away,  grow  utterly  weary  of  the  in- 
cessant turmoil  of  the  theatre.  They  may  love 
the  drama,  yet  consistently  dislike  the  practice  of 
dramatic  art ;  for  to  be  continually  en  evidence  is 
a  severe  ordeal. 

During  my  first  year  before  the  public  I  re- 
member Junius  Brutus  Booth  saying  to  me,  "  So 
you  still  like  to  fret  and  strut  upon  the  boards  ? 
Wait  till  the  novelty  wears  off !  I  would  rather 
plough  all  day  than  act  half  the  night." 

This  seemed  so  extraordinary  to  me  then  that 
I  repeated  what  he  had  said  to  his  eminent 
brother  Edwin.  He  laughingly  replied,  "  Quite 
right,  too ;  Junius  would  have  ploughed  better 
than  he  ever  acted."  Yet  Edwin  Booth  himself, 
in  the  midst  of  his  extraordinary  successes,  often 
spoke  of  his  own  longing  for  retirement  and  his 
dislike  for  public  life.  The  following  letter  men- 
tions the  subject: 


ACTORS  GROW  TIRED  OF  STAGE  LIFE  209 

« 

"  'Boothden,'  Newport,  Rhode  Island, 
*'  October  2,  1 884. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Anderson, —  ...  As  for  that 
beautiful  boy*  I  am  ashamed  to  remember  how  I 
have  ignored  him.  I  hope  his  dear  parents  and 
sweet  sister  will  forgive  an  old  fogy's  laziness  and 
lapses  of  memory.  He  shall  hear  from  me  one 
of  these  days,  when  he  is  old  enough  to  know  me. 
I  am  sure  you  need  no  words  to  assure  you  of  my 
sincere  gratification  at  your  success.  The  con- 
tinued good  reports  of  you  give  Edwina  and  my- 
self great  pleasure.  I  have  received  many  calls 
from  Germany,  but  do  not  think  of  crossing 
the  sea  again  —  not  professionally,  at  all  events. 
Though  not  weary  of  my  profession,  I  am  heartily 
tired  of  public  life,  which  was  always  distasteful 
to  me ;  and  as  I  grow  in  years  I  shrink  more  and 
more  from  the  glare  and  excitement  of  the  life. 

"  Give  my  kindest  regards  to  your  parents,  and 
believe  me, 

'•  Sincerely  your  friend  and  well-wisher, 

"  Edwin  Booth." 

Fanny  Kemble's  dislike  for  the  stage  is  as  well 

*  Referring  to  a  promised  present  to  his  namesake,  my  small  step- 
brother. 
«4 


210  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

known  as  Macready's.  Jenny  Lind  quitted  it  in 
the  height  of  her  success.  "  Once  before  the  foot- 
lights, always  before  the  foot-lights,"  does  not,  as 
is  supposed,  hold  good  in  all  cases.  Lady  Martin 
(Helen  Faucit)  told  me  that  while  acting  with 
Macready  her  three  nights  a  week  so  wearied  her 
physically  and  mentally  that  at  the  end  of  the 
acting  season  the  very  beauties  of  nature,  of 
which  she  was  so  passionately  fond,  had  lost  their 
charm  for  her,  so  deadened  with  overwork  had 
become  even  her  powers  of  appreciation.  A  per- 
formance every  night  and  twice  on  Saturdays  and 
holidays  makes  the  actor's  life  a  kind  of  slavery. 
I  own  that  Washington's  Birthday  only  meant  to 
me  an  extra  afternoon's  work ;  and,  try  as  I  would, 
I  could  not,  even  in  my  most  patriotic  moments, 
arouse  the  proper  enthusiasm  for  the  saviour  of 
my  country  on  that  day,  though  in  my  youth  I 
had  yearly  waved  American  flags,  and  suffered 
burned  fingers  cheerfully  in  his  honor.  Thanksgiv- 
ing Day  was  greeted  with  ^^thankfulness  for  the 
same  reason.  I  recall  Salvini  holding  forth  ear- 
nestly against  such  overwork.  "  Why  will  you 
American  and  English  artists  allow  yourselves  to 
travel  under  managers  who  demand  seven,  some- 
times   eight,  performances   weekly   of   you  ?"   he 


SALVINI   OPPOSED   TO  OVERWORK  211 

asked  me.  "  I  cannot  believe  that  an  artist  would 
risk  losing  his  voice  and  health,  while  continually 
doing  injustice  to  his  roles,  for  mere  money  rea- 
sons. How  many  good  voices  can  you  count 
among  your  English-speaking  artists  ?  Most  of 
them  are  anything  but  melodious.  My  wonder  is 
they  have  any  voices  at  all  with  such  constant 
work.  If  I  play  two  nights  consecutively  my 
voice  becomes  husky,  and  I  lose  a  certain  control 
over  it."  I  agreed  with  him  entirely,  but  assured 
him  that,  harmful  as  the  system  might  be,  there 
seemed  no  possibility  of  changing  it,  as  managers, 
for  financial  reasons,  refused  to  allow  their  artists 
to  act  only  three  nights  weekly.  "  Where  there 
is  a  will  there  is  a  way,"  he  answered.  "  Were  all 
the  attractions  to  band  together  and  refuse  to  act, 
as  I  do,  more  than  three  times  a  week,  they  would 
have  the  impresarios  in  their  power."  Poor  Chiz- 
zola,  his  friend  and  manager,  who  was  standing 
by,  smiled  sadly  at  this,  no  doubt  lamenting  his 
managerial  losses  on  the  other  three  nights. 

The  French,  recognizing  Winklemann's  princi- 
ple that  repose  should  underlie  all  true  artistic  at- 
tainment, arrange  in  their  leading  theatres  that 
the  artists  shall  have  several  nights  weekly  for 
rest,  study,  or  recreation.     I  believe  that  to  this 


212  A  FEW    MEMORIES 

they  owe  much  of  the  excellence  that  makes  them 
so  pre-eminent  in  the  art  of  acting.  Add  to  this 
the  advantage  of  a  systematic,  early  training,  and 
the  recognition  of  the  theatre  by  the  state,  both 
of  which  are  largely  ignored  in  our  English-speak- 
ing countries,  and  the  difference  between  French 
art  and  ours  is  not  to  be  wondered  at. 

We  arrived  at  New  York  on  a  dark,  rainy  morn- 
ing, disappointed  at  not  seeing  our  friends,  who, 
weary  with  awaiting  the  delayed  arrival  of  the 
Gallia,  had  given  us  up  for  another  day.  Our 
hotel  windows  faced  the  cathedral.  It  was  at  the 
time  of  the  lying  in  state  of  the  lamented  Cardi- 
nal McCloskey.  There  was  something  very  dismal 
in  the  melancholy  procession  of  umbrellas  (from 
above  one  could  not  see  their  owners)  which  filed 
in  and  out  of  the  church  from  morning  until  night. 

"  As  You  Like  It  "  was  the  first  play  we  pro- 
duced in  New  York.  It  was  not  a  complete  suc- 
cess. This  was  a  keen  disappointment.  The  com- 
pany, many  of  whom  had  acted  with  me  since  my 
first  appearance  in  England,  condoled  with  me  on 
the  coldness  of  the  audience,  contrasting  its  fri- 
gidity with  the  warmth  of  those  abroad.  This,  com- 
ing from  strangers,  though  well  meant,  was,  in  its 
truth,  humiliating.     Not  that  I  minded  failure,  for 


THE   BOOTH-SALVINI  COMBINATION  213 

an  occasional  lack  of  success  is  rousing  and  help- 
ful. But  the  coldness  of  my  reception  on  return- 
ing home  was  very  saddening. 

"  Pygmalion  and  Galatea,"  "  Comedy  and  Trag- 
edy," "  The  Lady  of  Lyons,"  and  "  Romeo  and 
Juliet "  followed.  The  last  was  a  brilliant  suc- 
cess ;  but  the  failure  of  the  first  part  of  the  season 
and  the  death  of  my  old  and  valued  friend,  John 
McCullough,  cast  a  gloom  over  the  entire  New 
York  engagement.  We  next  visited  Boston, 
where,  as  usual,  from  the  beginning  we  had  a 
right  royal  welcome.  Edwin  Booth  and  Salvini 
were  acting  together  there  at  the  time.  I  never 
saw  the  combination,  and  cannot  imagine  it  as  ef- 
fective. An  English  Hamlet  and  an  Italian  Ghost 
must  have  been  far  from  convincing  in  their  rela- 
tionship of  father  and  son.  Though  neither  Booth 
nor  Salvini  spoke  much  of  their  association,  I  sur- 
mised that,  in  spite  of  their  appreciation  of  each 
other's  work,  their  artistic  feelings  were  sorely 
tried,  not  only  by  the  medley  of  languages,  but  by 
the  incongruity  of  the  two  different  schools  of 
acting. 

During  our  stay  in  Boston  that  delightful  poet 
and  man,  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich,  gave  a  recep- 
tion to  Booth,  Salvini,  and  myself.     As  my  play 


214  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

that  night  was  a  short  one,  I  arrived  before  either 
of  the  great  tragedians.  Booth,  fresh  from  his 
performance  of  Hamlet,  entered  soon  after.  Soci- 
ety, he  had  confessed  to  me  years  before,  was  a 
torture  to  him.  In  a  crowd,  he  said,  he  felt  con- 
scious of  wearing  a  gloomy  scowl,  which,  being 
forced  into  a  smile,  changed  to  what  he  knew  to 
be  a  fixed  grin.  He  admitted  that  among  many 
people  he  could  never  listen  to  the  person  with 
whom  he  was  talking,  but  was  always  attracted 
by  the  remarks  of  some  one  standing  near  by, 
which  left  him  in  blank  and  hopeless  ignorance 
of  his  companion's  conversation  (a  predicament 
that  no  doubt  most  of  us  have  experienced).  Sal- 
vini,  who  was  greatly  excited  at  having  lost  his 
way,  came  in  very  late.  He  joined  us  at  once. 
Sitting  between  the  two  artists,  I  was  enabled  to 
observe  the  great  difference  between  them :  Booth, 
small,  lithe  of  figure,  his  dark,  lustrous  eyes  flash- 
ing with  nervous  vitality  and  intellect,  his  pale 
face  calm  and  supremely  melancholy  in  expres- 
sion, was  (though  neither  fat  nor  scant  of  breath), 
even  in  his  modern  evening  dress,  an  ideal  Ham- 
let. Salvini  was  massive,  almost  corpulent,  with  a 
lion-like  head,  a  personality  full  of  power,  enthusi- 
asm, and  capable  of  the  greatest  passion,  but  en- 


BOOTH   AND  JEFFERSON  215 

tirely  void  of  that  rapier-like  keenness  of  intellect 
that  was  the  very  essence  of  Booth's  individuality. 
I  had  known  both  men  for  years,  and  had  often 
conversed  with  them  separately.  Seeing  them  to- 
gether for  the  first  time  gave  me  an  entirely  new 
impression  of  both. 

Addison,  I  think,  says  that  conversation  is  pos- 
sible only  between  two  persons.  This  applied  to 
Edwin  Booth  more  than  to  most  people.  In  the 
presence  of  a  congenial  companion  his  nature 
seemed  to  expand,  whereas  with  the  many,  no 
matter  how  sympathetic,  he  would  invariably  be- 
come silent  and  reserved.  Seeing  him  with  his 
aged  mother  (who  had  given  him  his  glorious 
eyes)  or  with  any  member  of  his  family,  one  could 
not  doubt  the  deep  note  of  tenderness  in  his  nat- 
ure. His  loyalty  to  his  friends  and  his  generosity 
to  the  poor  were  proverbial. 

Joseph  Jefferson,  who  was  acting  in  the  vicinity 
of  Boston  during  our  engagement,  came  occasion- 
ally to  the  "  Hub,"  and  once  again  I  delighted  in 
his  conversation.  The  wise  and  witty  things  fell 
from  his  lips  like  the  rubies  and  diamonds  from 
the  mouth  of  the  good  little  girl  in  the  fairy  tale. 
Jefferson  is  not  only  a  great  actor — in  my  opinion 
the   greatest  living  comedian  —  but  a  charming 


216  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

writer  as  well.  I  know  little  of  his  painting,  but 
from  the  engravings  and  etchings  I  have  seen  of 
his  pictures  I  should  say  he  was  a  very  interest- 
ing artist  also.  The  arts  are,  after  all,  "  fingers  on 
one  hand ;"  and  a  genius  for  one  often  means  a 
facility  for  some  of  the  others,  and  generally  a  love 
for  them  all. 

Two  weeks  of  one -night  towns  followed  our 
Boston  engagement.  Such  constant  change  makes 
one  lose  track  of  time  as  well  as  place.  As  an  il- 
lustration of  this,  I  may  mention  that  years  before, 
during  a  month  of  such  travel,  a  friend  and  I  pur- 
chased some  flowers  with  which  to  decorate  Our 
Lady's  altar  in  the  church  of  a  country  town 
where  we  had  just  arrived,  and  where  we  were  to 
act  that  night.  While  engaged  at  our  work  a 
priest  entered  from  the  sacristy  and  stood  watch- 
ing its  progress.  I  had  warned  my  friend  before- 
hand not  to  mention  my  name,  fearing  that  a  pos- 
sible prejudice  against  the  stage  might  cause  a 
refusal  of  my  flowers.  The  good  father  expressed 
himself  greatly  pleased  with  our  decorations. 

"  Have  you  been  long  in  our  town  ?"  he  ques- 
tioned. 

"  We  arrived  only  this  morning,"  I  answered. 

"  Where  have  you  come  from,  if  I  may  ask  ?" 


SALT   LAKE  CITY  217 

A  blank  seized  my  mind.  Having  visited  a  new 
city  every  day  for  four  weeks,  I  could  not  think 
from  what  town  we  had  just  come,  and  foolishly 
answered,  "I  —  I  don't  know."  His  reverence 
looked  surprised;  and  wishing,  no  doubt,  to  re- 
lieve my  embarrassment,  asked  if  we  were  to  re- 
main long  in .    On  being  told  that  we  were 

leaving  that  night,  he  naturally  inquired  where  we 
were  going.  In  my  confusion  I  again  foolishly 
answered,  "  I — I  do  not  know."  He  looked  at  me 
with  much  wonder,  and,  with  a  distant  "  Good- 
morning,"  went  back  into  the  sacristy.  My  friend 
there  was  interrogated  in  the  same  way,  and  an- 
swered much  as  I  had  done.  The  astonished 
father  then  left  hurriedly,  thinking,  no  doubt, 
that  his  church  was  in  the  possession  of  two 
escaped  lunatics. 

After  visiting  all  of  the  important  Eastern  and 
many  of  the  Southern  cities,  we  toured  through 
the  West.     At  Salt  Lake  City  we  found  our  old 

friend,  General   McC ,  who,  during  our  stay, 

took  us  about  in  an  army  ambulance  drawn  by 
six  mules.  I  had  had  many  such  drives  in  earlier 
years,  but  they  were  particularly  enjoyable  after  a 
period  of  ultra-civilization  in  London.  Like  Hans 
Christian   Andersen's   Little  Claus,  one  felt  like 


2i8  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

shouting  out,  "  Whoa !  look  at  my  six  horses !" 
(mules  in  this  case),  as,  whipped  up  by  the  blue- 
coated,  brass -buttoned  soldier,  they  flew  through 
the  broad  streets.  We  played  "  Pygmalion  and 
Galatea"  there.  The  house  was  largely  composed 
of  groups  of  women  with  one  unfortunate  hus- 
band sitting  in  their  midst.  One  of  the  stage 
boxes  was  quite  filled  with  women,  while  in  the 
foreground  sat  the  newest  wife,  with  the  husband 
of  them  all  close  beside  her,  the  old  ones  literally 
obliged  to  take  back  seats.  The  play  was  re- 
ceived with  enthusiasm  until  Galatea's  lines  to 
Pygmalion,  "  Then  I  will  be  thy  wife,"  to  which 
he  answers,  "  That  may  not  be ;  I  have  a  wife. 
The  gods  allow  but  one"  when  I  grew  cold, 
awaiting  the  effect  of  a  doctrine  so  opposed  to 
Mormon  practice.  But,  fortunately,  their  only 
sign  of  disapproval  was  a  rigid  silence  from  that 
moment  to  the  end  of  the  performance.  Their 
resentment  was  so  deep  that  Gilbert's  most  amus- 
ing lines,  which  were  always  received  with  roars 
of  laughter,  failed  to  elicit  even  a  smile. 

Salt  Lake  City,  lying  in  a  grove  of  fruit  trees, 
with  wide  streets,  through  which  clear  mountain 
streams  flow,  is,  I  think,  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
cities  in  America.     There  is  an  excellent  view  of 


SACRAMENTO  219 

it  from  Fort  Douglas,  from  which  one  can  see  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  peaked  with  snow,  and  the  lake 
shining  like  a  huge  sapphire  in  the  distance.  There 
is  a  bloom  of  freshness  and  a  freedom  in  the  life 
out  there — a  stamp  of  strong  individuality  on  both 
people  and  place,  upon  which  "form"  and  conven- 
tionality have  not  yet  breathed.  General  Eli  Mur- 
ray, whom  I  had  known  since  childhood,  was  then 
governor  of  the  territory,  and  winning  golden  opin- 
ions for  the  admirable  manner  in  which  he  filled 
his  office,  while  slowly  accomplishing  the  uproot- 
ing of  polygamy  in  Utah.  On  seeing  the  large 
graveyard  set  apart  for  Brigham  Young,  his  nu- 
merous wives,  seventy  or  eighty  children,  and  their 
prospective  descendants,  the  evil  and  the  govern- 
or's task  seemed  alike  interminable. 

The  journey  from  Salt  Lake  City  to  Sacramento 
is  one  of  the  most  interesting  imaginable,  on  ac- 
count of  the  diversity  of  its  scenery.  I  must  con- 
fess to  a  feeling  of  pride  and  satisfaction  on  seeing 
my  birthplace.  There  is  something  almost  tropi- 
cal about  the  luxuriance  of  its  palms,  roses,  and 
magnolias ;  and  the  Spanish  character  and  pict- 
uresqueness  of  some  of  its  buildings  lend  to  it  a 
glamour  of  Old  World  romance. 

A  public  reception  enabled  me  to  see  all  the  in- 


220  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

habitants  of  that  dear  little  town.  Everybody,  from 
the  governor  down,  came  to  join  in  the  touchingly 
warm  welcome  to  their  tovvnswoman — "  Sacramen- 
to's Daughter,"  as  they  were  pleased  to  call  me. 
Some  very  poor  people  came  by  the  dais  for  a  hand- 
shake, among  them  several  barefooted  children. 
Pioneers,  "forty-niners,"  representatives  from  all 
the  different  classes  in  the  city  were  present,  and 
made  a  very  interesting  and  characteristic  crowd. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  heartiness  of  that  reception, 
or  the  feeling  almost  of  kinship  I  had  for  every 
one  who,  like  myself,  had  been  born  in  that  beau- 
tiful valley. 

I  naturally  expected  another  ovation  that  night 
at  the  theatre ;  but  on  coming  down  from  Galatea's 
pedestal  I  also  descended  from  my  great  expecta- 
tions. The  house  was  hardly  half  full,  and  I  do 
not  remember  a  hand  of  applause  during  the  entire 
performance.  I  learned  that  the  local  press  de- 
clared "  that  most  of  Sacramento's  amateurs  could 
have  played  Galatea  with  far  more  effect."  I  acted 
there  only  one  night ;  and  though  my  townspeople 
did  not  care  for  the  artist,  the  woman  will  never 
forget  the  heartiness  of  their  welcome  to  her. 

At  San  Francisco,  where  we  next  appeared, 
crowded   houses  and  praise  on  all  sides  greeted 


THE  SPLENDOR  OF  THE   OCEAN  221 

us.  This  was  also  a  surprise.  I  could  not  believe 
it  to  be  the  same  place  where,  years  before,  as  a 
very  young  and  struggling  girl,  I  had  lost  money 
nightly  for  that  kindest  of  friends,  John  McCul- 
lough,  and  where  I  had  shed  so  many  tears  of 
disappointment  at  receiving  only  discouragement 
from  press  and  fellow-actors. 

San  Francisco  has  the  advantage  of  beins:  near 
the  ocean — a  blessing  to  its  poorer  inhabitants  and 
an  absolute  respite  to  a  band  of  weary  players,  who 
are  more  than  thankful  to  have  the  must  and  dust 
of  the  theatre  blown  off  by  a  fresh  salt  breeze. 
Having  lived  for  nearly  sixteen  years  in  Kentucky, 
it  was  not  until  I  had  gone  upon  the  stage  and 
was  acting  in  Charleston,  South  Carolina,  that  I 
first  saw  the  sea.  It  was  in  a  brilliant  mood  that 
day,  and  the  flashing  and  dancing  of  its  purple, 
green,  and  blue  waves  left  me  almost  breathless  at 
the  sight  of  so  much  splendor.  I  loved  it  at  once, 
and  later,  on  making  Long  Branch  our  summer 
home,  it  was  my  habit  to  pass  hours  daily  watch- 
ing the  ocean  under  the  spell  of  all  the  different 
lights  of  early  morning,  noon,  and  night. 

During  the  San  Francisco  engagement  how  re- 
freshing it  was,  after  a  weary  night  at  the  theatre, 
to  watch  from  the  "  beach  when  the  morning  was 


222  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

shining  "  the  wonders  of  the  sea  and  sky !  One 
almost  envied  the  great  lumbersome  seals  as  they 
tumbled  about  in  the  water.  How  remarkably  like 
a  crowd  of  men  and  women  at  a  fashionable  tea- 
party  they  were,  on  the  huge  rock  that  bears  their 
name,  and  is  generally  covered  with  them.  They 
seemed  to  shake  hands  with  each  other,  and  wan- 
der about  its  smooth  surface  until  they  found  a 
congenial  seal,  by  whose  side  they  contentedly 
rested ;  each  favorite  holding  its  little  court,  and 
all  of  them  chattering  together  in  a  way  strongly 
resembling  the  human  race  at  a  social  function. 

Before  leaving  Frisco  we  visited  the  Chinese 
theatre,  which  is  built  far  underground.  In  what 
we  know  as  the  green-room  we  found  many  China- 
men crowded  together:  some  lying  on  shelves  still 
drunk  with  opium,  some  cooking,  others  eating,  the 
actors  painting  their  faces  and  putting  on  their 
wigs,  the  whole  atmosphere  stifling  with  the  odor 
of  opium  smoke  and  frying  food.  I  was  intro- 
duced to  the  great  attraction  of  the  Chinese  stage, 
a  favorite  impersonator  of  women,  who  had  been 
paid  an  immense  sum  by  his  countrymen  in  San 
Francisco  to  leave  China,  where  he  was  so  great- 
ly admired  that  he  had  to  leave  surreptitiously. 
It  was  impossible,  on  seeing  him  in  a  woman's 


IN   A  CHINESE  THEATRE  223 

dress,  with  his  delicate  features  and  shining  black 
wig,  to  believe  him  to  be  a  man.  He  handled  his 
fan  with  enough  grace  to  excite  the  envy  of  a 
Spanish  senorita.  He  spoke  to  me  as  to  a  fellow- 
artist  ;  and  was  exceedingly  courteous  and  kind. 
When  he  bade  me  adieu,  his  hand  felt  like  a  bun- 
dle of  finger-nails.  We  witnessed  the  play  from 
the  stage  (they  have  no  wings  or  curtain),  in  full 
sight  of  the  audience.  We  saw  but  little  of  it, 
though  we  remained  a  long  time,  for  the  Chinese 
often  take  a  year  to  act  a  single  play.  But  we 
had  the  good-fortune  to  see  several  of  the  artists 
come  from  behind  a  door  at  the  back  of  the  stage, 
go  through  a  scene  in  which  one  of  them  was 
killed,  and  the  corpse,  after  lying  rigid  for  a  mo- 
ment, spring  up  suddenly,  bow,  smile,  and  make 
his  exit  through  the  same  door,  all  to  the  melan- 
choly scraping  of  a  one-stringed  instrument  and 
the  dismal  howl  of  a  human  voice.  From  where 
we  stood  we  had  an  opportunity  of  observing 
how  the  rows  of  Chinese  faces  in  the  audience 
resembled  a  huge  collection  of  old  ivory  curios. 
Though  wc  were  accompanied  by  several  officers 
of  the  law,  the  sight  of  those  uncanny  people,  so 
far  from  the  free  air  and  our  own  kind,  was  any- 
thing but  reassuring. 


224  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

We  terminated  our  season  in  Chicago,  Boston, 
and  New  York.  Though  it  had  been  the  most 
successful  one  I  had  known  in  America,  I  felt, 
when  it  ended,  a  greater  desire  than  ever  to  leave 
the  stage  and  to  begin  a  life  of  freedom  and  peace 
far  away  from  its  publicity  and  drudgery. 


CHAPTER  XV 

Fanny  Kemble,  in  her  delightful  "  Recollec- 
tions of  a  Girlhood,"  says,  in  speaking  of  her  aunt, 
the  famous  Mrs.  Siddons:  "The  last  years  of  her 
life  made  a  profound  impression  upon  me.  Her 
apparent  deafness  and  indifference  to  everything 
I  attributed  less  to  her  advanced  age  and  impaired 
powers  than  to  what  I  supposed  to  be  the  with- 
ering and  dying  influence  of  the  over-stimulating 
atmosphere  of  emotion,  excitement,  and  admira- 
tion in  which  she  had  passed  her  life." 

Certainly  one  of  the  evils  attending  the  abnor- 
mal rush  of  the  theatre  is,  to  the  young,  a  rest- 
lessness accompanied  by  vague  longings  which, 
as  soon  as  satisfied,  give  way  to  new  dissatisfac- 
tion ;  and,  to  the  old,  that  pathetic  listlessness  de- 
scribed so  well  by  Fanny  Kemble,  who,  having 
spent  her  life  in  a  theatrical  family  of  great  fame, 
realized  its  full  meaning. 

There  is  a  belief  among  certain  classes  that  the 
stage  and  immorality  are  synonymous.  This  is 
is 


226  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

so  palpably  blind  prejudice  that  it  needs  no  refu- 
tation. My  observation  has  taught  me  that  the 
greatest  dangers  of  the  theatre  are  a  strong  ten- 
dency to  vanity,  a  certain  carelessness  about  the 
great  realities  of  life  (which  are  principally  noticed 
and  used  for  gaining  dramatic  effects),  and  the 
feverish  lack  of  repose  that  made  the  old  age  of 
Mrs.  Siddons  so  pitiable.  It  is  not  good  for  an 
instrument  to  be  strung  too  high;  and  it  seems 
to  me  that  the  actor  (an  instrument  of  many 
strings)  is  constantly  tuned  up  to  concert  pitch. 

During  my  last  years  before  the  public  I  felt 
and  dreaded  the  undermining  effects  of  such  rest- 
lessness, and,  after  the  season  in  America,  I  re- 
solved to  take  a  full  year's  repose.  To  do  this, 
offers  from  Spain,  Germany,  France,  and  Austra- 
lia were  refused.  We  went  to  a  quiet  part  of 
Paris  for  the  winter,  taking  an  apartment  near 
the  Bois.  But,  instead  of  using  my  time  for 
recreation,  I  devoted  it  to  the  study  of  French, 
music,  and  to  general  reading.  As  I  had  almost 
entirely  educated  myself,  I  wished  to  profit  by 
such  an  opportunity  for  further  improvement. 

Our  days  always  began  with  mass  at  Notre 
Dame  des  Victoires.  What  a  lesson  of  beautiful 
and   enduring  faith   that   church   teaches !    One 


In  Albanian  Costume.     From  Photograph.  1888. 


MRS.  AUGUSTUS  CRAVEN  227 

cannot  look  at  the  hundreds  of  ex-votos  lining  its 
every  nook  and  corner  without  being  touched  and 
edified  by  the  great  number  of  believers  in  the 
actual  daily  help  from  the  Divine  Source. 

That  saintly  and  admirable  woman,  Mrs.  Au- 
gustus Craven  {nee  De  la  Ferronnays),  the  author- 
ess of  "  Recit  dune  Sceur,"  was  then  living  in 
her  quiet  little  home  overlooking  the  picturesque 
garden  of  the  Sacre  Cceur.  Her  friend  and  mine, 
the  charming  Lady  Herbert  of  Lea,  took  me  to 
see  her  there.  What  a  pretty,  gay  little  creature 
she  was !  One  could  never  think  of  her  as  old ; 
for  even  in  her  life  of  seclusion  and  active  spirit- 
uality her  sympathy  with  all  the  realities  of  life, 
her  animated  interest  in  all  the  great  events  of 
the  outside  world,  and  her  familiarity  with  the 
latest  creations  in  literature  and  art,  were  full  of 
the  eagerness  of  youth.  The  excellence  of  her 
English  made  it  almost  impossible  for  one  to 
think  of  her  as  a  Frenchwoman.  Her  conversa- 
tion was  varied.  She  spoke  as  well  on  the  drama 
of  all  countries  as  upon  the  deepest  religious 
questions.  She  knew  her  Shakespeare  thorough- 
ly. "Romeo  and  Juliet"  seemed  to  have  a  par- 
ticular charm  for  her.  The  simplicity,  humility, 
good-humor,  and  a  nameless  distinction  about  her, 


228  A   FEW  MEMORIES 

born  of  her  spirituality,  made  one  feel  greatly  priv- 
ileged in  having  spent  an  hour  or  two  in  her  gen- 
tle presence.  I  wondered  at  the  time  what  she 
would  have  been  at  her  age  had  she  fretted  away 
her  life  upon  the  stage.  I  also  saw  Ristori  again 
while  in  Paris.  We  had  several  engrossing  talks 
about  the  plastic  art,  and  took  great  pleasure  in 
illustrating  to  each  other  the  effects  to  be  got  out 
of  classic  draperies.  To  a  Greek,  her  drapery 
was  what  a  fan  is  to  the  woman  of  Spain:  by 
swinging  and  changing  its  folds  she  was  able 
almost  to  converse  with  it.  The  yards  of  beauti- 
ful soft  stuff  enveloping  her  form  gave  to  her 
every  movement  a  flowing  grace,  and  added  a 
breadth  and  importance  to  her  presence.  How 
often  I  have  wished  that  the  ancient  Greek  cos- 
tume would  again  become  and  remain  the  fash- 
ion 1  Ristori  had  spent  hours  before  many  of 
the  great  statues,  and  seemed  to  have  learned  and 
loved  the  language  of  every  line  and  fold. 

Ruskin  once  said  to  me  that  he  had  never 
cared  for  plastic  art;  and  was  good  enough  to  add 
that  my  Galatea  had  given  him  more  of  an  appre- 
ciation for  it  than  he  had  ever  expected  to  have. 
I  cannot  understand  the  almost  general  lack  of 
enthusiasm  for  the  great  statues.     To  me  they 


LORD  LYTTON'S  ODD  SUGGESTION  229 

say  as  much  as  the  rarest  pictures,  and  are  as 
eloquent  as  the  music  of  Bach  or  Beethoven. 
I  only  refer  to  the  greatest;  for  a  study  of  the 
work  of  many  modern  sculptors  leaves  one  as 
cold  as  the  marble  itself;  and  the  morbid  cult  of 
some  of  them  for  what  is  hideous  is  not  only 
irritating  but  painful.  I  remember  a  visit  to  the 
studio  of  one  of  the  most  prominent  French 
sculptors  in  Paris.  After  seeing  everything  in 
both  of  the  huge  ateliers,  Lord  Lytton  (who  was 
of  the  party),  a  singularly  able  critic  in  all  matters 
artistic,  suggested  a  visit  to  the  morgue  as  a 
means  of  driving  from  our  minds  the  hideous 
creations  we  had  seen.  We  gladly  assented ;  and 
indeed  the  three  or  four  figures  we  saw  there 
were  far  more  beautiful,  with  the  calm  majesty  of 
death  upon  them,  than  any  of  the  representations 
of  life  we  had  seen  in  the  studio.  My  friends  in 
Paris  were  vront  to  say  that  many  of  my  leisure 
moments  were  spent  either  at  the  Comedie  Fran- 
chise or  at  the  Nouveau  Cirque.  I  confess  that 
the  circus  has  always  had  a  great  hold  upon  my 
affections.  To  see  such  riders  as  Madame  Dock- 
rill  and  Robert  Stickney  was  a  genuine  artistic 
pleasure.  The  grace,  power,  and  daring  they  ex- 
hibited were  nothing  short  of  wonderful.     Their 


230  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

extraordinary  physical  control  served  me,  while 
still  very  young,  as  a  lesson  of  how  the  will, 
backed  by  perseverance,  may  accomplish  almost 
anything. 

During  that  winter  in  Paris  I  undertook  the 
responsibility  of  engaging  the  Lyceum  for  the 
following  year,  intending  then  to  make  my  first 
effort  at  managing  a  theatre.  But  I  had  no  play 
to  produce.  Many  sketches  and  plays  had  been 
written  for  me,  among  them  a  scenario  by  W. 
G.  Wills  on  "  The  Young  Cleopatra,"  showing 
the  life  of  the  Egyptian  queen  until  her  meeting 
with  Marc  Antony.  Unfortunately  this  was  not 
one  of  his  happiest  efforts.  He  also  began  a 
play  from  a  plot  furnished  him  by  Mr.  Wilson 
Barrett,  the  first  acts  of  which  were  very  good. 
The  denouement,  however,  being  commonplace, 
this  was  likewise  abandoned.  Mr.  W.  S.  Gilbert 
read  me  his  play, "  Brantingham  Hall";  but,  real- 
izing that  the  chief  character  was  not  in  my  line, 
I  declined  it.  In  his  usual  amusing  way  the 
author  asked  me  whether  my  reason  for  doing  so 
was  because  I  found  anything  gross  in  it;  "for," 
said  he,  "  I  hear  that  you  hate  gross  things  so 
much  that  you  can  hardly  be  induced  to  take 
your  share  of  the  gross  receipts." 


SHAKESPEARE  AGAIN   SELECTED  231 

Herman  Merrivale's  "Charlotte  Corday,"  Edgar 
Favvcett's  "  Major  Andre,"  Bulwer  Lytton's  un- 
published play  of  "  Tarquin  and  Lucretia  " — after- 
wards produced  by  Wilson  Barrett — and  many 
others,  were  for  some  reason  found  impracticable, 
and  I  was  strongly  tempted  to  produce  a  dram- 
atization of  Madame  de  StaeTs  "  Corinne,"  by  an 
American  diplomat;  but  no  doubt  Shakespeare 
had  made  me  over-critical,  for  I  eventually  gave 
that  up  also.  In  the  midst  of  the  dilemma,  my  old 
friend  Thomas  Hall  suggested  my  undertaking 
Hermione  and  Perdita,  in  "  The  Winter's  Tale." 
I  decided  to  do  so :  and  the  feeling  of  comfort  and 
joy  at  being  again  under  the  protecting  wing  of 
the  great  bard  can  well  be  imagined. 

Years  before,  when  in  the  same  predicament, 
I  sought  advice  on  the  subject  from  Boucicault 
and  Joseph  Jefferson.  Their  answer  was,  in  sub- 
stance, "  Why  worry  about  modern  plays  while 
you  have  Rosalind,  Imogene,  and  Beatrice  still 
before  you  ?"  "  And,"  Jefferson  laughingly  added, 
"  besides,  Shakespeare  will  not,  like  the  modern 
author,  worry  you  at  rehearsals,  nor  demand  his 
percentage  of  the  receipts." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

I  met  Lord  Tennyson  during  my  first  year  in 
London,  but  it  was  not  until  I  knew  him  in  his 
own  home  that  I  learned  a  little  of  the  largeness 
and  beauty  of  his  nature.  His  shyness  or  reserve 
during  early  acquaintanceship  he  concealed  by  a 
decided  brusqueness  of  manner  which  was  mis- 
leading to  those  who  never  realized  the  privilege 
of  becoming  his  friends.  I  first  visited  the  Tenny- 
sons  at  Aldworth,  their  Surrey  home.  How  full  of 
poetry  and  romance  were  its  great  oriel  windows 
and  flowered  terraces !  How  full  of  peace  its 
surrounding  heather-covered  slopes,  studded  with 
golden  gorse,  and  its  splendid  landscape  silently 
stretching  far  into  the  purple  distance!  I  shall 
never  forget  my  first  meeting  with  Lady  Tenny- 
son. She  was  resting  on  the  couch  upon  which 
she  has  lain  for  so  many  years.  The  lovely 
saintliness  of  her  face  recalled  Ary  Scheffer's 
"St.  Monica,"  and  Pere  Grou's  words  that  "the 
greatest  trial  of  suffering  is  not  in  the  suffering 


TENNYSON'S   REPROOF  233 

itself,  but  in  the  revolt  in  us  against  it."  Not  a 
trace  of  rebellion  against  her  long  illness  was 
visible  in  her  patient,  smiling  countenance. 

At  dinner  the  bard  spoke  with  much  enthusi- 
asm of  Homer,  and  made  many  quotations  from 
the  Iliad  in  Greek  to  illustrate  the  grand  roll- 
ing sound  of  that  language,  and  how  fitted  it  was 
for  poetry.  He  was  merciless  on  all  who  made  a 
wrong  use  of  words;  and  pulled  me  up  severely 
for  speaking  of  some  trivial  thing  as  "  awfully 
nice."  "  What  is  to  become  of  writers  if  people 
will  insist  upon  misusing  and  vulgarizing  words 
of  distinctive  meaning?"  My  confusion  at  his 
just  reproof  was  fortunately  short-lived,  for  to  my 
delight  another  guest,  speaking  soon  after  of 
something  "  awfully  jolly,"  was  scathed  and  with- 
ered on  the  spot.  I  was  much  surprised  to 
learn  from  Lord  Tennyson  that  he  had  heard 
Owen  Meredith's  "Lucille"  was  more  popular  in 
America  than  any  single  poem  of  either  Long- 
fellow, Matthew  Arnold,  or  himself.  When  I  men- 
tioned this  afterwards  to  the  late  Lord  Lytton,  he 
was  not  as  pleased  as  I  had  expected.  It  was  before 
the  copyright  law,  and  he  informed  me  that  he 
had  never  received  the  slightest  remuneration  for 
the  enormous  sale  of  his  poems  in  our  country. 


234  A   FEW  MEMORIES 

In  subsequent  visits  to  the  laureate's  homes  at 
Hazlemere  and  the  Isle  of  Wight  I  had  the  happi- 
ness of  joining  him  in  the  two  hours'  walk  which, 
rain  or  shine,  he  took  daily.  His  tender  interest 
in  every  "  bud  and  flower  and  leaf  "  was  charming. 
How  many  pretty  legends  he  had  about  each ! 
The  cliffs,  the  sky,  the  sea,  and  shrubs,  the  very 
lumps  of  chalk  underfoot — he  had  a  word  for 
them  all.  The  things  he  read  in  Nature's  book 
were  full  of  the  same  kind  of  poetry  as  his  own; 
and  the  "sunbeams  of  his  cheerful  spirit"  flood  all 
my  memories  of  those  delightful  walks.  Though 
nearer  eighty  than  seventy,  his  step  was  so  rapid, 
he  moved  so  briskly,  that  it  was  with  difficulty  I 
kept  up  with  him.  The  last  twenty  minutes  of 
the  two  hours  generally  ended  in  a  kind  of  trot. 
Weather  never  interrupted  his  exercise.  He 
scorned  an  umbrella.  With  his  long  dark  mantle 
and  thick  boots,  he  defied  all  storms.  When  his 
large-brimmed  hat  became  heavy  with  water,  he 
would  stop  and  give  it  a  great  shake,  saying: 
"  How  much  better  this  is  than  to  be  huddled 
over  the  fire  for  fear  of  a  little  weather !"  His 
great  strength  and  general  health  were  due,  no 
doubt,  to  the  time  he  spent  so  regularly  in  the 
open    air.     Another   example   of   the  wonderful 


TENNYSON   LIKED  A  GOOD  STORY  235 

effects  of  systematic  exercise  is  Madame  Schu- 
mann, whose  mind  is  as  fresh  as  her  complexion, 
and  whose  energy  and  vitality,  for  one  of  her 
years,  are  truly  wonderful.  I  was  delighted  to  hear 
Tennyson  praise  the  works  of  my  great  favorite, 
Kit  Marlowe.  He  believed  that  Shakespeare  had 
him  to  thank  for  some  of  his  inspiration.  We 
spoke  of  many  poets  living  and  long  since  dead, 
and  of  all  he  had  something  appreciative  to  say. 
His  conversation  was  often  interspersed  with  illus- 
trative stories,  many  of  them  comic.  The  number 
he  had  of  these  was  incredible.  His  friend  James 
Russell  Lowell,  he  said,  had  given  him  some  good 
ones.  Mr.  Lowell  prided  himself  on  his  quick- 
ness in  seeing  a  point.  "  Nothing,"  he  once  re- 
marked to  me,  "enrages  me  so  much  as  to  have 
some  one  tell  me  a  good  story  and  then  explain  it. 
It  is  an  open  insult  to  my  intelligence."  I  have 
never  met  any  one  more  perfect  with  whom  to 
exchange  anecdotes  than  Tennyson.  At  one  time 
I  made  it  a  practice  to  put  down  and  remember 
the  many  good  ones  I  heard,  for  the  selfish  pleas- 
ure of  repeating  them  to  him.  His  broad  sympa- 
thies made  him  understand  one  in  all  moods,  and 
brought  to  light  one's  truest  and  best  meaning. 
He  was  not  a  faddist  in  any  sense  of  the  word; 


236  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

but  saw  the  beauty  of  the  field  daisy  as  clearly  as 
that  of  the  rarest  orchid. 

During  one  of  my  visits  Lord  Tennyson  gave 
me  his  charming  pastoral,  "  Robin  Hood."  It  had 
been  written  for  Mr.  Irving  some  time  before,  but 
had  never  been  produced.  The  part  of  Maid 
Marian  was  altered  and  strengthened  for  me, 
and  the  title  changed  to  "  The  Foresters."  The 
bard's  willingness  to  make  necessary  alterations 
for  practical  purposes  was  in  strong  contrast  to 
the  tenacity  with  which  less  eminent  dramatists 
frequently  cling  to  their  every  line. 

Before  considering  our  scenery  for  "  The  For- 
esters" a  visit  was  planned  to  the  New  Forest. 
Lord  Tennyson,  with  his  son  and  charming  daugh- 
ter-in-law, my  mother,  and  I  spent  two  days  to- 
gether under  the  "  melancholy  bows "  of  that 
beautiful  wood.  I  had  never  seen  the  bard  in 
gayer  mood  than  during  that  long  picnic.  We 
lunched  upon  the  ground,  in  the  checkered  shade, 
and  walked  and  drove  from  morning  till  night 
through  the  great  forest. 

Passing  some  stray  streamlet,  it  was  delightful 
to  see  the  aged  poet  play  at  ducks -and -drakes, 
and  quote  between  whiles  in  his  inimitable  way : 
"  Flow  on,  cold  rivulet,  to  the  sea,"  etc.,  etc. 


TENNYSON'S  APPEARANCE  237 

Two  great  trees  we  particularly  admired.  On  re- 
turning home,  photographs  of  them  were  sent  us, 
with  a  line  saying  that  thereafter  the  two  trees 
would  be  known  as  the  "  Tennyson "  and  the 
"  Mary  Anderson." 

We  stopped  at  a  small  inn  near  by,  where  in 
the  evening  a  grandson  of  Wordsworth  came  to 
pay  his  respects  to  the  laureate,  and  to  read  to 
him  an  unpublished  poem  by  his  eminent  grand- 
father. Not  wishing  to  be  known,  we  travelled 
incognito.  Lord  Tennyson  passed  as  "  Mr.  Hood." 
It  was  "  Mr.  Hood  "  here  and  "  Mr.  Hood  "  there 
from  us  all,  much  to  his  amusement.  Everything 
went  well  until  the  last  morning,  when  the  land- 
lady asked,  with  a  bob  and  a  knowing  look,  if 
"  his  lordship  would  have  any  more  toast  ?"  We 
then  realized  how  foolish  we  had  been  in  imasrin- 
ing  that  Tennyson  could  have  passed  for  any  one 
but  himself.  He  was  a  large,  strongly-built  man, 
with  a  lion -like  head,  splendidly  poised  on  broad 
shoulders.  His  profile  was  particularly  noble. 
His  hands  were  large  and  shapely;  his  finger- 
tips square.  Any  one  understanding  the  subject 
would  have  called  them  honest,  trust -inspiring 
hands,  capable  of  doing  good  and  great  things. 

When  he  read  to  us  I  generally  sat  near  him 


238  A   FEW  MEMORIES 

on  a  low  seat,  with  his  face  between  me  and  the 
candle  that  lighted  his  book,  the  rest  of  the  room 
in  darkness.  The  silhouette  of  his  beautiful  feat- 
ures is  one  of  my  most  treasured  mind-portraits. 

Readers  or  reciters  are,  as  a  rule,  wearisome. 
They  look  to  the  right  when  they  speak  the 
woman's  part,  to  the  left  when  the  man  speaks, 
or  vice  versa.  There  is  often  in  their  efforts  an 
ostentatious  attempt  at  acting ;  and  when,  as  fre- 
quently happens,  the  right  and  left  become  con- 
fused, the  listener  is  in  a  fog  as  to  who  is  really 
speaking.  The  poet  gave  himself  none  of  these 
manners.  He  simply  sat  in  our  midst,  and  told 
us  his  story  of  The  Cup,  Guinevere,  Elaine,  Maud, 
as  the  case  might  be.  A  rhythmic  tolling  of  the 
death-bells  and  a  cadence  of  martial  music  ran 
through  his  reading  of  the  "  Funeral  Ode  to  Wel- 
lington," which  made  it  most  solemn  and  impres- 
sive. I  have  heard  him  read  many  of  his  shorter 
poems  also,  and  have  had  more  poetic  pleasure  in 
the  darkened  room,  with  only  the  swinging  mono- 
tone of  the  poet's  fine  voice  to  break  its  stillness, 
than  I  have  ever  experienced  in  any  theatre.  He 
generally  made  interesting  remarks  between  the 
pieces  while  quietly  smoking  his  pipe.  Though 
the  tears  often  coursed  down  his  cheeks  in  the 


THE  ART  OF  ELOCUTION  239 

pathetic  parts,  I  never  saw  him  make  a  gesture 
while  reading.  It  was  as  if  through  the  medium 
of  his  sonorous  voice  his  spirit  poured  forth 
through  his  words.  He  was  not  an  elocutionist, 
and  therein  lay  one  of  his  great  charms  as  a 
reader.  I  do  not  wish  to  depreciate  the  art  of 
elocution,  for,  if  thoroughly  learned  and  then  ap- 
parently forgotten,  it  may  be  of  great  value  to  the 
actor. 

Artists  are  often  complimented  on  their  gest- 
ures and  elocution.  Is  this  not  poor  praise  ?  Had 
we  known  Hamlet,  and  been  spectators  of  his  sad 
life,  should  we,  at  some  show  of  grief  or  passion 
from  him,  have  noticed  his  reading  ?  Should  we 
have  remarked  Juliet's  gestures  had  we  been  be- 
side her  when  she  discovered  Romeo  dead  ?  Ra- 
chel was  pained  when  a  great  critic  said  to  her, 
11 1  shall  never  forget  your  expression  and  gestures 
in  the  last  act  to-night."  His  attention  having 
been  drawn  to  the  means  she  had  employed, 
proved  to  her  that  she  had  not  gained  her  end — 
viz.,  to  make  her  auditors  believe  that  they  were 
in  the  actual  presence  of  the  character  she  was 
impersonating. 

Lady  Martin,  though  she  told  me  that  Ma- 
cready's  suggestions  for  general  reading  had  been 


240  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

invaluable  to  her,  never  gave  the  slightest  hint  of 
being  an  elocutionist.  It  was  at  her  house  that  I 
first  heard  her.  She  read  "The  Lady  of  Lyons." 
It  will  be  remembered  that  she  was  the  orimnal 
Pauline.  Neither  in  costume  nor  looks  did  she 
in  the  least  suggest  Bulwer's  heroine;  yet  she  had 
not  turned  the  second  page  before  I  felt  myself  in 
the  presence  of  an  ideal  Pauline.  I  have  seen  the 
part  played  by  many  young  and  beautiful  women, 
but  Lady  Martin,  book  in  hand,  spectacles  on 
nose,  seated  by  her  tea  -  table,  with  no  audience 
but  Sir  Theodore  and  myself,  produced  greater  ef- 
fects than  any  of  the  others  with  all  their  stage 
accessories.  She  had  what  Lord  Tennyson  pos- 
sessed so  largely — a  power  of  saturating  herself 
with  the  vital  essence  of  what  she  read,  and  infus- 
ing it  into  her  listeners. 

Finding  the  Kensington  district  relaxing,  we 
sought  a  home  near  the  Heath  at  Hampstead. 
Although  it  is  not  a  fashionable  quarter,  and  is 
often  identified  with  'Arrys  and  'Arriets,  it  is 
(except  on  bank  holidays)  a  delightfully  quiet 
place,  and  so  bracing  that  I  went  through  an  en- 
tire season  while  living  there  without  experien- 
cing the  slightest  fatigue.  Many  artists  of  the 
brush  and  pen  (they  seem  always  to  find  the  best 


AUBREY   DE  VERE  241 

of  everything)  made  their  nests  there  —  among 
them  George  du  Maurier,  Holliday,  the  late  la- 
mented John  Pettie,  and  Edwin  Long.  One 
often  met  Du  Maurier  on  the  Heath,  selecting 
bits  of  the  landscape  for  his  Punch  illustrations. 
How  charming  the  originals  of  these  are  few 
know.  We  once  had  his  house  for  a  month:  the 
stairway  was  lined  with  the  drawings  for  the 
Punch  reproductions,  and  as  a  result  my  journeys 
up  and  down  stairs  took  many  a  half-hour. 

The  Heath  is  reminiscent  to  me  of  many 
friends,  prominent  among  them  that  rarest  of 
minds,  Aubrey  de  Vere,  to  whom  I  owe  many 
happy  walks  over  its  bracken  and  heather.  His 
love  for  everything  beautiful  in  art  and  nature 
made  his  influence  especially  refining  and  his  con- 
versations as  charming  as  his  essays  and  poems. 
To  hear  him  speak  of  his  friends  Sir  Henry 
Taylor  and  Wordsworth  gave  one  a  new  and  even 
higher  impression  of  both.  Through  him  I  be- 
came acquainted  with  Sir  Henry  Taylor's  noble 
plays.  I  shall  always  be  his  debtor  for  the  re- 
freshing pleasure  I  had  in  reading  "  Philip  van 
Arteveldt"  and  "The  Sicilian  Summer."  We  vis- 
ited together  the  National  Gallery  several  times. 

He  liked  to  select  some  of  our  favorite  pictures 
16 


242  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

and  ask,  "  What  does  this  figure  say  to  you  ? 
What  do  you  think  the  artist  wished  to  show  in 
this  or  that  one  ?"  Of  the  wonderful  creations  of 
Angelico,  Perugino,  Boticelli,  Raphael,  he  had  al- 
ways something  stimulating  to  say.  He  did  not 
look  at  their  work  from  the  painter's  point  of 
view.  The  drawing,  the  way  those  mystic  colors 
glorify  the  canvases,  meant  less  to  him  than  what 
the  old  masters  said  to  the  highest  and  best  in 
his  soul  and  mind.  Aubrey  de  Vere's  friends  call 
him  "The  Orb,"  and  are  wont  to  say  that  his  feet 
alone  touch  the  earth,  the  rest  of  him  being  al- 
ready in  heaven.  His  loving  loyalty  to  his  friends 
is  not  the  least  beautiful  trait  in  an  exceptionally 
beautiful  nature.  Every  year  he  comes  from  Ire- 
land to  visit  the  friends  he  loves  best,  nor  does  he 
forget  those  who  are  gone,  nor  fail  to  make  a 
journey  to  the  Lake  district  to  pay  a  tribute  of 
affection  to  the  grave  of  his  boyhood's  friend, 
Wordsworth.  Though  old  in  years,  the  peace  of 
his  spiritual  life  has  left  his  face  unfurrowed.  His 
color  is  fresh,  red  and  white ;  his  eyes  young, 
clear,  and  blue;  and  his  smile  that  of  a  child. 
All  this  youthfulness  contrasts  curiously  with  his 
gray  hair  and  tall,  thin,  stooping  body.  One  of 
his  great  charms  to  me  is  his  carelessness  of  ex- 


PRODUCING  "THE  WINTER'S   TALE"  243 

ternals.  I  remember  driving  with  him  through 
the  Park  during  the  season.  I  was  in  my  smart- 
est gown  and  bonnet.  We  were  in  a  victoria.  He 
held  a  Gamp-like  umbrella,  and. opened  it  to  keep 
the  sunlight  from  his  eyes.  Years  had  turned  its 
cotton  blackness  into  a  green-brown,  and  one  of 
its  ribs  had  fallen  in  from  the  decay  of  age ;  but 
he  clung  to  it  as  he  clings  to  his  friends,  whether 
in  sickness  or  health,  riches  or  poverty. 

To  enact  both  Hermione  and  Perdita  was,  I 
felt,  a  serious  undertaking.  I  mentioned  to  Lord 
Tennyson  my  fear  that  doubling  the  parts  would 
not  be  well  received,  especially  by  the  critics.  I 
remember  so  well  his  reply :  "  Thank  God,"  he 
said,  "  the  time  is  past  for  the  Quarterly  or  the 
Times  to  make  or  mar  a  poem,  play,  or  artist! 
Few  original  things  are  well  received  at  first. 
People  must  grow  accustomed  to  what  is  out  of 
the  common  before  adopting  it.  Your  idea,  if 
carried  out  as  you  feel  it,  will  be  well  received 
generally — and  before  long."  The  bard's  wisdom 
and  decision,  when  asked  for  advice,  were  a  great 
boon  to  his  friends. 

"The  Winter's  Tale"  had  never  been  a  very 
successful  play.     Sarah  Siddons  acted  the  part  of 


244  A  FEW  MEMORIES 

Hermione,  and  we  read  that  in  the  statue  scene 
she  was  very  beautiful,  but  that  the  earlier  parts 
dragged.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Charles  Kean  produced 
it  with  much  magnificence  and  a  fine  cast ;  yet  we 
never  hear  of  its  running  for  more  than  thirty 
nights.  In  studying  the  play,  the  reason  of  its 
non-success  appeared  to  me  to  be  the  undue 
prominence  given  to  several  of  the  less  important 
characters,  and  the  comparatively  short  and  inter- 
rupted appearance  of  the  two  heroines,  which 
breaks  the  continued  interest  of  the  spectator. 
The  first  difficulty  was  to  cut  these  secondary 
parts  without  marring  the  beauty  or  meaning  of 
the  text ;  and  the  next,  to  keep  alive  the  sympa- 
thies of  the  audience  with  both  Hermione  and 
Perdita  from  beginning  to  end. 

Without  the  assistance  of  books  and  sugges- 
tions given  to  me  by  William  Black,  Henry  Irv- 
ing, Lord  Lytton,  E.  A.  Abbey,  and  Thomas 
Hall  I  should  never  have  dared  to  use  the  prun- 
ing-knife  as  freely  as  I  did;  and  to  them  I  owe 
hearty  thanks  for  helping  me  over  many  rough 
places  in  this  respect.  As  to  keeping  alive  an 
unbroken  interest  in  the  mother  and  child  (Her- 
mione and  Perdita)  who  are  separated  for  the  best 
part  of  two  acts  (sixteen  years),  I  thought,  after 


HERMIONE  AND  PERDITA  245 

careful  consideration,  that  the  best  way  was  to 
follow  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Hall,  and  have  the 
two  'parts  played  by  the  same  person,  my  chief 
authority  for  doing  so  being  the  strong  resem- 
blance between  Hermione  and  Perdita,  remarked 
in  the  text: 

"...  the  majesty  of  the  creature,  in  resemblance  of  the 
mother." 

And  again,  when  Paulina  reproves   Leontes  for 

looking  at  Perdita — 

"  Sir,  my  liege, 
Your  eye  hath  too  much  youth  in't ;  not  a  month 
'Fore  your  queen  died  she  was  more  worth  such 
Gazes  than  what  you  look  on  now" — 

he  answers, 

"  I  thought  of  her 
Even  in  these  looks  I  made." 

To  intrust  Perdita  to  a  person  unlike  the  queen 
in  looks,  voice,  or  manner  would,  I  thought,  give 
the  lie  to  the  king's  words,  lessen  the  interest  in 
the  last  two  acts,  and,  from  an  acting  point  of 
view,  spoil  the  continuity  of  the  play.  Had  doub- 
ling the  parts  necessitated  cutting  out  the  impor- 
tant speeches  of  either  character,  the  idea  would 
have  been  abandoned.  But  as  only  six  of  Per- 
dita's  lines  were  sacrificed,  I  did  not  feel  guilty  of 


246 


A    FEW   MEMORIES 


any  vandalism  in  doing  so.  We  produced  the 
play  for  the  first  time  in  Nottingham,  to  celebrate 
Shakespeare's  birthday.  It  proved  a  great  success, 
both  with  the  people  of  that  city  and  with  the  nu- 
merous Londoners  who  came  especially  to  see  it. 
My  surprise  and  disappointment  may  be  imag- 
ined when,  in  the  following  September,  it  was  not 
received  with  any  marked  enthusiasm  on  its  first 
night  in  London.     The  cast  was  as  follows  : 


>•  (four  lords  of  Sicilia)  < 


Leontes      .     (King  of  Sicilia) 

Mamillius  .         .  (his  son)  . 

Camillo 

Antigonus 

Cleomenes 

Dion 

A  Councillor 

Court  Officer 

Court  Herald     . 

Officer  of  Guard 

A  Jailer 

Hermione     (queen  to  Leontes) 

_     ..      ((daughter    to    Leontes 
Perdita-T       ° 

(     and  Hermione) 

(wife  to  Antigonus)  . 

.  (a  lady)  . 

(with  song) 


Paulina 
Emilia 
1  st  Lady 
2d  Lady 
Polixenes 
Florizel 


Mr.  J.  Forbes-Robertson. 

Miss  Mabel  Hoare. 

Mr.  J.  Maclean. 

Mr.  Geo.  Warde. 

Mr.  Arthur  Lewis. 

Mr.  F.  Raphael. 

Mr.  K.  Black. 

Mr.  H.  Pagden. 

Mr.  Lennox. 

Mr.  Galliford. 

Mr.  Davies. 

Miss  Mary  Anderson. 

Mrs.  John  Billington. 
Miss  Helena  Dacre. 
Miss  Desmond. 
Miss  Russell. 
Mr.  F.  H.  Macklin. 
Mr.  Fuller  Mellish. 


(King  of  Bohemia) 
.  (his  son)  . 

Old  Shepherd  j  (^££^  °f  [  Mr.  W.  H.  Stephens 


ALMA-TADEMA  WRITES  OF  OLD   TIMES  247 

Clown      .        .    (his  son)  .        .     Mr.  G.  Anderson. 

Autolycus         .    (a  rogue)  .        .     Mr.  Charles  Collette. 

Archidamus    (a  lord  of  Bohemia)    Mr.  Glen  Winn. 

Mopsa  )         /  ,     ,      ,         x         ( Miss  Jeffie  Tilbury. 

_  V         (shepherdesses)         <.r. 

Dorcas  Miss  Ayrton. 


I  heard  that  many  of  the  "  first-nighters  "  voted 
it  dull  and  heavy,  and  prophesied  that  it  could 
not  run  for  more  than  two  weeks.  My  pet  play 
looked  very  like  a  failure.  But  after  that,  "  the 
actor's  greatest  judge  " — the  public — continued  to 
fill  the  house  nightly,  and  received  it  with  increas- 
ing warmth.  It  kept  the  stage  for  a  hundred 
and  sixty-four  nights ;  and  had  not  my  tenancy 
of  the  Lyceum  then  expired,  it  would  probably 
have  run  on  for  another  hundred.  This  was  the 
only  time  in  my  experience  that  I  acted  the  same 
play  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  a  season. 

In  a  letter  about  old  times,  that  brilliant  paint- 
er and  incomparable  friend  and  host,  Alma-Tade- 
ma,  mentions  my  farewell  to  the  London  stage. 
I  cannot  do  better  than  let  his  graphic  words 
describe  it  for  me : 

"Yes,  those  were  good  times  of  'Galatea'  and 
4  The  Winter's  Tale,'  and  so  many  other  creations 
of  yours.     Especially  do  I  like  to  linger  on  the 


248  A    FEW    MEMORIES 

souvenirs  of  'The  Winter's  Tale,'  and  its  last  per- 
formance at  the  Lyceum,  when  you  were  so  fully 
and  enthusiastically  engrossed  with  your  render- 
ing of  Shakespeare  that  I  distinctly  heard  you 
sing  while  dancing  down  in  Perdita.  The  house 
called  for  a  speech,  and  it  did  one  good  to  see 
everybody  so  grateful  for  what  you  had  given, 
and  I  shall  never  forget  the  moment  when,  after 
a  few  words  of  farewell,  you  hesitated,  and  tried 
to  find  a  support  on  the  curtain,  when  a  voice 
from  the  gallery  was  heard,  saying,  '  God  bless 
you,  Mary,'  and  immediately  the  hearty  wish  was 
re-echoed  by  the  whole  theatre  as  if  with  one 
voice.  Alas!  you  did  not  keep  your  promise,  and 
never  returned  to  the  London  stage,  and  reserved 
only  to  some  chosen  friends  the  happiness  of 
meeting  you,  who  must  always  be  a  bright  star  in 
their  past." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

After  so  much  kindness  from  the  public,  it 
seems  ungrateful  to  confess  that  the  practice  of 
my  art  (not  the  study  of  it)  had  grown,  as  time 
went  on,  more  and  more  distasteful  to  me.  To 
quote  Fanny  Kemble  on  the  same  subject:  "  Nev- 
er "  (in  my  case  for  the  last  three  years  of  my 
public  life)  "  have  I  presented  myself  before  an 
audience  without  a  feeling  of  reluctance,  or  with- 
drawn from  their  presence  without  thinking  the 
excitement  I  had  undergone  unwholesome,  and 
the  personal  exhibition  odious."  To  be  con- 
scious that  one's  person  was  a  target  for  any  who 
paid  to  make  it  one ;  to  live  for  months  at  a  time 
in  one  groove,  with  uncongenial  surroundings, 
and  in  an  atmosphere  seldom  penetrated  by  the 
sun  and  air;  and  to  be  continually  repeating  the 
same  passions  and  thoughts  in  the  same  words — 
that  was  the  most  part  of  my  daily  life,  and  be- 
came so  like  slavery  to  me  that  I  resolved  after 
one  more  season's  work  to  cut  myself  free  from 


250  A   FEW   MEMORIES 

the  stage  fetters  forever.  I  was  then  beginning 
the  tour  in  England,  Ireland,  and  Scotland  that 
brought  my  career  as  an  actress  to  an  end  in 
Great  Britain.  This  was  in  1888.  My  last  ap- 
pearance on  the  Old  World  side  of  the  ocean  was 
in  Dublin,  where  we  were  joined  by  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
William  Black,  and  where  for  a  frolic  we  invei- 
gled the  author  of  "The  Strange  Adventures  of 
a  Phaeton"  upon  the  mimic  scene.  Once  before, 
on  his  native  heath,  Scotland,  we  had  induced  him 
to  appear  as  a  mute  masked  guest  in  the  ballroom 
scene  of  "Romeo  and  Juliet."  On  that  occasion, 
I  remember,  he  went  to  the  theatre  as  soon  as  any 
of  the  actors,  to  dress  for  his  part,  though  his 
costume  consisted  only  of  a  domino  and  mask. 
When  the  scene  opened,  and  he  was  discovered 
among  a  throng  of  guests,  he  was  struck  by  a 
violent  attack  of  stage  fright  that  nailed  him  to 
the  stage,  and  kept  him  there  after  the  others  had 
departed  —  an  unwilling  witness  of  the  tender 
glances  of  the  Veronese  lovers.  Finally,  Tybalt, 
without  Shakespeare's  permission,  returned  to  the 
scene  and  led  him  off.  In  Dublin  he  was  dis- 
guised as  an  ancient  peasant  in  "The  Winter's 
Tale,"  and  the  manner  in  which  he  strolled  about 
conversing  in  his  own — not  Shakespeare's — Ian- 


BOOTH  AND   BARRETT  251 

guage,  and  ferociously  waving  a  long  staff,  was 
more  alarming  even  than  his  petrification  in 
"Romeo  and  Juliet."  This  second  effort  proved 
to  us  definitely  that  his  acting  was  as  bad  as  his 
writing  was  good,  and  his  wife  and  I  concluded 
that  it  would  be  better  for  his  reputation  as  an 
immortal  not  to  strut  the  stage  again. 

The  adieu  from  Ireland  was,  as  before,  uproar- 
ious. The  night's  journey  to  Queenstown  was 
filled  with  surprises.  After  settling  down  to  sleep 
the  time  away  I  was  awakened  at  the  different 
stations  en  rotUe  with  cheers  and  cries  of  "  Hur- 
rah for  the  Stars  and  Stripes !"  "  Good-luck  to  our 
Mary,"  etc.,  and  was  then  told  that  some  of  that 
night's  kind-hearted  audience  were  seeing  us  safe- 
ly on  our  way  to  the  sea. 

In  New  York,  Booth  and  Barrett  were  acting  to- 
gether during  my  engagement  there.  We  con- 
stantly met,  and  our  parties  often  supped  together 
after  the  play.  It  was  very  amusing  to  see  the  fiery 
Cassius  and  stolid  Brutus  indulging  in  bread-and- 
milk  after  "  cleaving  the  general  ear  with  horrid 
speech."  Dear  Lawrence  Barrett  was  always  the 
life  of  our  little  suppers.  A  five-act  tragedy  and  a 
long  night's  work  seemed  to  exhilarate  him,  and 
his  droll  remarks  and  wonderful  anecdotes  kept  us 


252  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

in  great  spirits.  Booth  sat  quietly  listening,  his 
large  dark  eyes  sparkling  with  amusement.  Oc- 
casionally he  was  fired  to  rise  and  act  some  comic 
incident  in  his  own  inimitable  manner.  What  a 
happy  party  we  were ! — like  a  lot  of  children  out 
of  school.  And  they,  the  two  bright  lights  of  all 
these  meetings,  are  now  gone.  "  Where  be  their 
gambols  now  ?  their  songs  ?  their  flashes  of  merri- 
ment, that  were  wont  to  set  the  table  on  a  roar?" 
The  rare  place  they  occupied  in  the  affection  of 
their  friends,  and  in  the  heart  of  the  public,  can 
never  again  be  filled.  It  has  been  said  by  a  well- 
known  manager  that  "  Shakespeare  spells  ruin." 
Observation  and  experience  have  taught  me  the 
contrary.  When  he  is  well  treated,  Shakespeare 
never  fails  to  draw  the  public.  The  repertoire  of 
Booth  and  Barrett  consisted  principally  of  the 
master's  plays,  and  their  financial  as  well  as  artistic 
success  was  very  great.  At  the  same  time,  in  the 
same  city,  I  was  playing  "The  Winter's  Tale"  to 
all  the  houses  could  hold.  Irving  can  always  fill 
his  theatre  with  the  great  bard's  plays.  Salvini's 
most  signal  triumphs  in  America,  England,  and 
on  the  Continent  have  been  in  "Othello";  and  I 
have  never  seen  the  Theatre  Francais  so  constant- 
ly crowded  as  during  the  run  of  "  Hamlet."     In 


CHILDHOOD'S  HAUNTS    REVISITED  253 

spite  of  the  recent  futile  attempts  to  prove  that  he 
did  not  write  his  own  plays,  and  the  unworthy  ef- 
fort so  to  rob  him  of  his  glory,  it  is  clearly  obvious 
to  all  who  do  not  wish  to  gain  notoriety  by  trying 
to  fell  a  giant  that  Shakespeare  is  for  all  climes 
and  all  times. 

After  visiting  many  of  the  principal  States, 
I  was  delighted  to  find  myself  again  in  quaint, 
charming  Louisville,  Kentucky.  Everything  goes 
along  so  quietly  and  lazily  there  that  no  one  seems 
to  change  or  grow  older.  Having  no  rehearsals,  I 
used  my  first  free  time  since  I  had  left  the  city, 
soon  after  my  debut,  to  see  the  places  I  liked  best. 
Many  of  my  childhood's  haunts  were  visited  with 
our  old  nurse  "  Lou."  At  the  Ursuline  Convent, 
with  its  high  walls,  where  music  had  first  cast  a  ver- 
itable spell,  and  made  a  willing  slave  of  me  for  life, 
most  of  the  nuns  looked  much  the  same,  though 
I  had  not  seen  them  in  nineteen  years.  The  little 
window  of  the  den  where  I  had  first  resolved  to  go 
upon  the  stage  was  as  bright  and  shining  as  ever; 
and  I  wondered,  in  passing  the  old  house,  whether 
some  other  young  and  hopeful  creature  were  dream- 
ing and  toiling  there  as  I  had  done  so  many  years 
before.  At  the  Presentation  Academy  I  found  the 
latticed  summer-house  (where,  as  a  child,  I  had  re- 


254  A   FEW  MEMORIES 

acted  for  my  companions  every  play  seen  at  the 
Saturday  matinees,  instead  of  eating  my  lunch) 
looking  just  as  cool  and  inviting  as  it  did  then. 
My  little  desk,  the  dunce-stool,  everything  seemed 
to  have  a  friendly  greeting  for  me.  Mother  Eula- 
lia  was  still  the  superioress,  and  in  looking  into 
her  kind  face  and  finding  so  little  change  there,  it 
seemed  that  the  vortex  I  had  lived  in  since  those 
early  years  was  but  a  restless  dream,  and  that  I 
must  be  a  little  child  again  under  her  gentle  care. 
No  one  was  changed  but  myself.  I  seemed  to 
have  lived  a  hundred  years  since  leaving  the  old 
places  and  kindly  faces,  and  to  have  suddenly  come 
back  again  into  their  midst  (unlike  Rip  Van 
Winkle)  to  find  them  as  I  had  left  them. 

Many  episodes,  memorable  to  me,  occurred  in 
Louisville.  Not  the  least  pleasant  was  Father 
Boucher's  acknowledgment  (after  disapproving  of 
my  profession  for  years)  that  my  private  life  had 
not  fallen  under  the  evils  which,  at  the  beginning, 
he  feared  to  be  inevitable  from  contact  with  the 
theatre.  Father  Boucher  was  a  dear  old  French- 
man, who  had  known  and  instructed  me  in  matters 
religious  since  my  childhood.  My  respect  and  af- 
fection for  him  had  always  been  deep.  When  he 
condemned  my  resolution  to  go  upon  the  stage 


HONORED   BY   THE  SENATE  OF   KENTUCKY      255 

quite  as  bitterly  as  did  my  venerated  guardian, 
Pater  Anton,  my  cup  of  unhappiness  overflowed. 
All  my  early  successes  were  clouded  by  the  aliena- 
tion of  such  unique  friends.  My  satisfaction  and 
delight  may  be  imagined  when,  after  years  of  es- 
trangement, Father  Boucher  met  me  with  the  same 
trust  with  which  he  had  honored  me  as  a  child, 
and  heartily  gave  me  his  blessing. 

It  was  also  at  Louisville  that  the  highly  com- 
plimentary "resolutions"  passed  by  the  Senate  of 
Kentucky,  and  unanimously  adopted  by  that  body, 
were  presented  to  me.  They  were  the  State's 
crowning  expression  of  good-will  to  their  grate- 
ful, though  unworthy,  countrywoman. 

There  have  been  so  many  conflicting  reports 
about  my  illness  that  season — which  was  only  the 
natural  result  of  overwork — that  I  am  glad  to  be 
able  to  give  an  accurate  account  of  those  last 
nights  of  my  stage  career.  The  strain  of  living 
so  many  lives  in  one,  added  to  the  wear  and  tear 
of  constant  travel,  was  beginning  to  tell  upon  me. 
At  Cincinnati  I  felt  too  weary  to  act,  but  went 
through  the  engagement  there ;  and,  to  my  sur- 
prise, was  told  by  every  one  that  my  work  was 
better  than  usual.  At  Washington  (it  was  in- 
auguration   week,    and    Mr.    Harrison   had  just 


256  A  FEW   MEMORIES 

been  proclaimed  President)  I  went  through  the 
first  two  nights.  On  Ash- Wednesday  the  doctor 
thought  me  too  tired  to  make  the  effort,  and  I 
did  not  appear.  On  Thursday,  against  his  wishes 
and  those  of  that  kindest  of  impresarios,  Hen- 
ry E.  Abbey,  I  insisted  upon  acting.  The  first 
scenes  of  "The  Winter's  Tale"  went  very  smooth- 
ly. The  theatre  was  crowded.  Perdita  danced 
apparently  as  gayly  as  ever,  but  after  the  exer- 
tion fell  fainting  from  exhaustion,  and  was  car- 
ried off  the  stage.  I  was  taken  into  the  dressing- 
room,  which  in  a  few  moments  was  filled  with 
people  from  the  boxes.  Recovering  conscious- 
ness quickly,  I  begged  them  to  clear  the  room. 
Realizing  then  that  I  would  probably  not  be  able 
to  act  any  more  that  season,  though  there  were 
many  weeks  yet  unfinished,  I  resolved  at  any  cost 
to  complete  that  night's  work.  Hurriedly  put- 
ting on  some  color,  I  passed  the  groups  of  peo- 
ple discussing  the  incident,  and  before  the  doctor 
or  my  brother  were  aware  of  my  purpose,  ordered 
the  curtain  to  be  rung  up  and  walked  quickly 
upon  the  stage.  As  I  did  so  I  heard  a  loud  hum, 
which  I  was  afterwards  told  was  a  great  burst  of 
applause  from  the  audience.  The  pastoral  scene 
came  to  an  end.     There  was  only  one  more  act 


From  the  Photograph  by  Adolph  Meyer,  taken  November,  1895. 


. 


LAST  APPEARANCE  ON   THE  STAGE  257 

to  go  through.  Donning  the  statue-like  draperies 
of  Hermione,  I  mounted  the  pedestal.  My  phy- 
sician, formerly  an  officer  in  the  army,  said  that 
he  had  never,  even  in  the  midst  of  a  battle,  felt 
so  nervous  as  when  he  saw  the  figure  of  Hermi- 
one swaying  on  her  pedestal  up  that  long  flight 
of  stairs.  Every  moment  there  was  an  hour  of 
torture  to  me,  for  I  felt  myself  growing  fainter 
and  fainter^  All  my  remaining  strength  was  put 
into  that  last  effort.  I  descended  from  the  ped- 
estal, and  was  able  to  speak  all  but  the  final  line. 
This  remained  unuttered,  and  the  curtain  rang 
down  on  my  last  appearance  on  the  stage. 

The  following  November  (1889)  I  became  en- 
gaged to  Antonio  F.  de  Navarro,  whom  I  had 
known  for  many  years,  and  in  June  of  1890,  at 
the  little  Catholic  church  at  Hampstead,  London, 
we  were  married.  Many  and  great  inducements 
have  since  been  frequently  offered  me  to  act  again, 
but— 

"  II  en  coute  trop  cher  pour  briller  dans  le  monde, 
Combien  je  vais  aimer  ma  retraite  profonde; 
Pour  vivre  heureux,  vivons  cache's." 

London,  November,  1895. 


17 


INDEX  OF  NAMES 


Abbey,  Henry  E.,  120,  128,  135, 

136,  152,  256. 
Abbey,  Edwin  A. ,  244. 
Adams,  Edwin,  26. 
Albani,  Madame,  190. 
Albany,  Duke  of,  156. 
Aldrich,  Thomas  Bailey,  213. 
Andersen,  Hans  Christian,  19,  217. 
Anderson,  Charles  H.,  3. 
Anderson,  Joseph,  17,  20,  107,  183, 

247. 
Anton,  Pater  (Nonie),  7,  8,  9,  II,  12, 

17.  32.  43.  51.  255. 
Arnold,  Matthew,  233. 
Ayrton,  Miss,  247. 

Barnum,  P.  T.,  137. 

Barrett,  Lawrence,  100,    122,    123, 

125,  134,  154,  251,  252. 
Barrett,  Wilson,  134,  230,  231. 
Barry,  136. 

Barton,  H.  C,  121,  122. 
Beaconsfield,  Lord,  155,  201. 
Beatrice,  Princess,  181. 
Bernhardt,  Madame  Sarah,  84,  106, 

107,  108. 
Billington,  John,  Mrs.,  246. 
Birch,  Harvey,  53. 
Black,  K.,  246. 

Black, William,  183, 184, 201, 244, 250. 
Booth,  Edwin,  29.  30,  31,  34,  43,  75, 

100,  115,  116,  129,  134,  178,  20S, 

209,  213,  214,  215,  251,  252. 


Booth,  Edwina,  129,  209. 
Booth,  J.  B.,  66,  208. 
Boucher,  Father,  254,  255. 
Boucicault,  Dion,  87,  98,  99,   154, 

231. 
Bpwers,  Mrs.  D.  P.,  2. 
Brazil,   Emperor  and   Empress  of, 

84,  85. 
Brignoli,  93,  94. 
Browning,  Robert,  152,  154. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  201. 
Chanfrau,  Mrs.,  65,  66. 
Chataway,  Misses,  129,  199. 
Chizzola,  211. 
Coleridge,  191. 
Collette,  Charles,  247. 
Collins,  Wilkie,  141-147,  150,  151. 
Craik,  Mrs.  (Miss  Mulock),204,  205. 
Craven,   Mrs.  Augustus   {m'e  de  la 

Ferronnays),  227. 
Cushman,  Charlotte,  36-42,  66,  85, 

134- 

Dacre,  Helena,  246. 
Davies,  Mr.,  246. 
Dean,  Julia,  66,  85,  98. 
De  Bar,  Ben,  63,  64. 
De  Navarro,  Antonio  F.,  257. 
Desmond,  Miss,  246. 
De  Vere,  Aubrey,  241,  242. 
Dickens,  Charles,  71,  96,  140,  141, 
153.  157.  158. 


260 


INDEX   OF   NAMES 


Dockrill,  Madame,  229. 
Du  Chantal,  Sister,  18. 
Du  Maurier,  George,  241. 
Duncan,  Errold,  122. 

Ellsler,  John  E.,  122,  125. 
Emmett,  J.  K.,  113. 
Eulalia,  Mother,  254. 

Faucit,  Helen  (Lady  Martin),  30, 
210,  239,  240. 

Fawcett,  Edgar,  231. 

Ferronays,  nde  de  la  (Mrs.  A.  Cra- 
ven), 227. 

Fields,  James  T.,  101. 

Flower,  Mr.,  193,  197, 

Forbes-Robertson,  J.,  200,  246. 

Ford,  John  T.,  76,  84. 

Forrest,  66. 

Forsythe,  Kate,  121. 

Galliford,  Mr.,  246. 
Garrick,  David,  118,  136,  171. 
Gilbert,  W.  S.,  148,  149,  150,  218, 

230,  232. 
Gladstone,  Rt.  Hon.  W.   E.,   173, 

188,  189. 
Gleichen, Count  (Prince  Hohenlohe), 

154.  155. 
Goldschmidt,  Madame  (Jenny  Lind), 

190,  210. 
Goodwin,  Nat.,  121. 
Gosse,  Edmund,  166. 
Got,  105,  107. 
Grant,  General  and  President,   12, 

77.  73. 
Granville,  Lord,  188. 
Gray,  Thomas,  184. 
Gregory,  Lady  (Mrs.  Stirling),  180, 

181. 
Griffin,  Guilderoy,  18,  19. 
Griffin,  Dr.  Hamilton,  12,  18,  20,  23, 


24.  34.  35.  36.  47.  50.  51,  65,  77, 
95- 

Hall,  Thomas  H.,70,  81, 114,231, 
244,  245. 

Harris,  Sir  Augustus,  120. 

Harris,  Lin,  73. 

Harrison,  President  Benjamin,  255. 

Haydon,  139. 

Herbert  of  Lea,  Lady,  227. 

Hoare,  Mabel,  246. 

Hohenlohe,  Prince  (Count  Glei- 
chen), 154,  155. 

Holliday,  241. 

Houghton,  Lord,  167. 

Huddleston,  Baron,  182. 

Hugo,  Victor,  167,  168. 

Hunt,  Leigh,  139. 

Hutton,  Laurence,  140. 

Irving,  Henry,  133-135,  171,  236, 
244,  252,  254. 

■• 

James,  Henry,  166. 

James,  Louis,  125. 

Jackson,  Stonewall,  12. 

Jefferson,  Joseph,  83,  100,  177,  215, 

231. 
Johnson,  Dr.,  141. 

Kean,  Charles,  244. 

Kean,  Edmund,  136. 

Kemble,    Fanny,   34,   85,   99,   209, 

225,  249,  251. 
Kendal,  Mrs.,  132. 

Landseer,  Sir  Edwin,  139. 

Lane,  John  A.,  122. 

Langdon,  H.  A.,  122. 

Lee,  General  Robert  E.,  12,  67. 

Lee,  Mildred,  67. 

Lennox,  Mr.,  246. 


INDEX  OF  NAMES 


261 


Levick,  Milnes,  53,  56. 

Lewis,  Arthur,  246. 

Lind,  Jenny  (Madame  Goldschmidt), 

190,  210. 
Linney,  Mr.,  122. 
Liszt,  8,  101. 
Little,  Frank,  121,  122. 
Logan,  Olive,  53. 
Long,  Edwin,  241. 
Longfellow,  Henry  W.,  81, 101, 104, 

154.  233. 
Lou,  9,  10,  253. 
Louise,  Princess,  181. 
Lowell,  James  Russell,  84,  166,  167, 

235. 
Lucy,  Sir,  197. 
Lytton,  Lord,  154,  171,   185,   186, 

229,  231,  233,  240,  244. 

Macauley,  Barney  (Uncle  Dan'l), 

35.  49.  50.  53.  55,  60,  62. 
Macklin,  31. 
Macklin,  F.  II.,  246. 
Maclean,  J.,  246. 
Macready,  30,  153,  210,  239. 
McCloskey,  Cardinal,  212. 
McCullough,  John,  47,  49,  74,  75, 

121-125,  x92,  213,  221. 
McKenzie,  R.  Shelton,  96. 
Manning,  Cardinal,  81,  no,  203. 
Marlowe,  Kit,  235. 
Martin,  Dr.  E.  B.,  140. 
Martin,    Lady  (Helen  Faucit),  30, 

210,  239,  240. 
Mellish,  Fuller,  246. 
Meredith,  Owen,  233. 
Merrivale,  Herman,  231. 
Millet.  Frank  D.,  118. 
Moseley,  F.  C,  121. 
Morris,  Clara,   100,   108,   122,   123, 

124. 
Mllller,  Professor  Max,  172. 


Mulock,  Miss  (Mrs.  Craik),  204,  205. 
Murdock,  James  E.,  121,  125. 
Murray,  General  Eli,  219. 

Newman,  Cardinal,  203,  204. 
Nonie  (Pater  Anton),  7,  8,  9,  n,  12, 

17,  32,  43.  5i.  255- 
Norton,  John  W. ,  91,  92. 

O'Connor,  Mr.,  171. 

Pagden,  H.,  246. 
Pettie,  R.A.,  John,  183,  241. 
Pedro,  Dom,  84,  S5. 
Plunkett,  Charles,  121. 
Prentice,  George  D.,  19,  20. 

Rachel,  35,  66,  107,  117,  239. 
Raphael,  F.,  246. 
Raymond,  John  T.,  191. 
Reade,  Charles,  141. 
Rhea,  Mdlle.,  122. 
Riddle,  Albert  T.,  122. 
Ristori,  Madame,  109,  228. 
Rodgers,  B.  G.,  121,  122. 
Rolfe,  Charles,  122. 
Ruskin,  John,  228. 
Russell,  Miss,  246. 

Salvini,   Senior,    123,    133,  210, 

213,  214,  252. 
Saxe-Weimar,   Prince  and   Princess 

Edward  of,  206. 
Schumann,  Madame,  235. 
Shelley,  159,  190. 
Sherman,  General  \V.  T.,  12,  79,  Si, 

82,  116. 
Siddons,  Sarah,  34,  136,  139,  225, 

226,  243. 
Stephens,  W.  II.,  246. 
Stickncy,  Robert,  229. 
Stirling,  Madame  Antoinette,  205. 


262 


INDEX   OF   NAMES 


Stirling,  Mrs.  (Lady  Gregory),  180, 

181. 
Stirling,  Arthur,  179. 
Southey,  191. 

Tadema,  Alma-,  148-150, 166,247, 

248. 
Taylor,  Sir  Henry,  241. 
Tennyson,    Lord  Alfred,    18,  154, 

169,  175,  184,  186,  187,  232-240. 
Terriss,  Mr.,  145,  179. 
Terry,  Ellen,  133,  134. 
Thackeray,  141,  153. 
Tilbury,  Zeffie,  247. 
Tom  Thumb,  General  and  Mrs.,  65. 

Vandenhoff,  George,  41-45. 
Victoria,  Queen  and  Empress,  38. 


Wainwright,  Miss,  125. 

Wales,  Prince  of,  181. 

Wales,  Princess  of,  154,  181. 

Ward,  Mrs.  Humphry,  165. 

Warde,  Geo.,  246. 

Watts,  G.  F.,  173-175. 

Wills,  W.  G.,  230. 

Wilson,  E.,  121,  122. 

Wingfield,  Hon.  Lewis,  171,  179. 

Winn,  Glen,  247. 

Winter,  Percy,  122. 

Winter,  William,  98,  129,  198. 

Wordsworth,  William,  139,  190,  191, 

237,  241,  242. 
Worms,  105. 
Wouds,  Henry,  35,  36,  46. 

Young,  Brigham,  219. 


THE  END 


THE  ABBEY   SHAKESPEARE 

The  Comedies  of  William  Shakespeare.  With  Many  Draw- 
ings by  Edwin  A.  Abbey,  Reproduced  by  Photogravure. 
Four  Volumes.  Large  8vo,  Half  Cloth,  Deckel  Edges 
and  Gilt  Tops,  $30  00.     Net.     (/«  a  Box.) 

As  an  example  of  the  art  of  book-making,  the  work  surpasses 
anything  these  publishers  have  heretofore  put  forth,  while  as  an 
illustrated  work  it  is  the  richest  and  most  artistic  that  has  yet 
come  from  the  American  press.  We  doubt  if  the  French  or 
English  press  has  ever  produced  its  equal. . . .  Each  plate  contains 
all  of  the  original  drawing  from  which  it  has  been  made.  This 
is  very  high  praise,  but  it  is  not  a  whit  more  than  this  remark- 
able work  deserves — the  most  beautiful,  the  most  workmanlike, 
and  the  most  creditable  piece  of  book-making  of  its  kind  that 
has  yet  been  done  in  this  country. — N.  Y.  Sun. 

The  study  of  Abbey's  drawings  will  hereafter  play  an  impor- 
tant part  in  the  joys  of  the  Shakespeare  student.  So  worthily 
has  he  labored  and  so  intelligently  has  he  studied  every  phase 
of  the  wide  range  of  subjects  the  Comedies  bear  upon,  that,  as 
the  years  pass,  it  will  be  more  and  more  fully  realized  by  the 
great  public  what  a  pictorial  museum  this  remarkable  series  of 
illustrations  go  to  form. — N.  Y.  Mail  and  Express. 

Four  noble  volumes.  ...  A  gallery  of  drawings  the  beauty  and 
merit  of  which  it  would  be  impossible  for  another  than  himself 
to  equal. — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

Of  a  type  never  before  approached  in  wondrous  excellence  of 
concept  and  elaborateness. — Interior,  Chicago. 

This  regal  edition.  .  .  .  The  Comedies  will  be  read  in  these  vol- 
umes with  a  pleasure  never  before  approached  in  illustrated  edi- 
tions.— N.  Y.  Tribune. 

Connoisseurs  of  book-making  may  well  linger  over  the  material 
and  pictorial  charms  of  this  exquisite  work — a  really  monumental 
one  in  point  of  luxurious  equipment  and  artistic  finish. — Dial, 
Chicago. 

We  know  of  no  edition  of  Shakespeare's  Comedies  which  can 
compare  with  this  for  artistic  merit.  The  illustrations  alone 
make  the  volumes  rare  companions,  and  it  is  high  praise  to  de- 
clare the  work  all  and  more  than  the  advance  reports  claimed 
it  to  be.  These  four  tasteful  volumes  will  be  treasured  by  those 
who  look  for  the  most  beautiful  productions  of  the  book-making 
art. — Boston  Journal. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York 

■  The  abevt  work  it  /or  tale  by  all  booksellers,  or  mill  be  sent  by  the  publishers, 
pottage  prepaid,  oh  recti  ft  of  the  price. 


THE   AMERICAN   STAGE 

Curiosities  of  the  American  Stage.  By  Laurence  Hutton. 
With  Copious  and  Characteristic  Illustrations.  Crown 
8vo,  Cloth,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Top,  $2  50. 

Mr.  Hutton  has  packed  a  marvellous  amount  of  curious  infor- 
mation into  his  pages.  .  .  .  To  collectors  this  volume  must  be 
quite  indispensable,  and  there  is  no  lover  of  the  theatre  who  will 
not  find  it  entertaining  and  instructive. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

Mr.  Hutton  writes  entertainingly  and  with  knowledge  of  the 
stage,  and  his  new  book  is  crammed  full  of  facts.  ...  No  writer 
on  this  subject  is  more  painstaking  and  accurate  than  Laurence 
Hutton.  His  sources  of  information  are  as  trustworthy  as  pos- 
sible.   His  memory  is  generally  clear  and  unerring. — N.  Y.  Times. 

One  of  the  most  important  contributions  yet  made  to  the  his- 
tory of  our  native  drama.  .  .  .  Mr.  Hutton  is  to  be  congratulated 
upon  the  clearness  and  fulness  of  his  work,  which,  taken  as  a 
whole,  is  a  unique  and  valuable  addition  to  the  literature  of  this 
century. — Boston  Traveller. 

This  is  by  far  the  best  book  of  its  kind  ;  some  readers  may  go 
further  and  pronounce  it  the  only  book  of  its  kind.  Neither  his- 
terical  nor  biographical,  it  is  full  of  interesting  chat  about  stage 
people — more  than  five  hundred  of  them. — N.  Y.  Herald. 

Mr.  Hutton  has  brought  to  bear  on  his  subject  both  sympathy 
and  appreciation.  Moreover,  his  well-tested  knowledge  and  his 
well-known  accuracy  stamp  all  his  statements  with  a  double 
value,  all  of  these  things  giving  to  his  "Curiosities"  an  impor- 
tance not  to  be  attained  by  the  average  collection,  and  carrying 
his  volume  far  beyond  the  level  of  his  own  modest  estimate. — 
N.  Y.  Mail  and  Express. 

Mr.  Hutton  has  an  unerring  instinct  for  discerning  what  to 
collect  and  what  to  omit  from  his  book.  A  more  delightful 
treasury  of  the  "  Curiosities  of  the  American  Stage  "  it  would  be 
difficult  to  conceive. — Philadelphia  Ledger. 

Theatrical  literature  has  nothing  better  and  few  things  as  good. 
.  .  .  Mr.  Hutton  seems  to  have  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  personal 
reminiscences,  and  to  these  he  has  added  all  sorts  of  curious  in- 
formation from  other  sources. — Cincinnati  Times-Star. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York 

|^y  The  above  work  is  for  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  by  the  publishers,  post- 
age prepaid,  on  receipt  of  the  price- 


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